Atonement
by comewhatmay.x
Summary: The final exit of Jenny Humphrey. Because sometimes the most unlikely of people can bring us together in the most tragic of situations. CB
1. Prologue

PROLOGUE

* * *

It's a known fact that when someone young dies a tragic death, everyone forgets and forgives their past misdeeds. After all, it's hard to despise someone six feet under. People only ever remember the good, and the departed are labeled as heroes and loyal friends. They are remembered kind and good, beautiful in soul and body. B students become A+ students overnight, and their teachers, coaches, and principals are quick to remark on the bright future they could've had.

_Only the good die young_, they say.

…

Blair Waldorf had wished Jenny dead many times.

When the backstabbing little girl had stolen her crown and poisoned Nate's mind against her, Blair had wished Jenny dead. Gone. Forever.

When little J had convinced her own mother to choose Serena over her _again_, Blair had wished Jenny dead. Gone. Forever.

When the raccoon eyed blonde had warned William van der Woodsen about their perfectly executed plan, Blair had wished Jenny dead. Gone. Forever.

When the manipulative girl had sent Gossip Girl that tip about Serena and Dan, Blair had wished Jenny dead. Gone. Forever.

And on the final night she saw Jenny Humphrey, when she watched those black tears run down that once-pretty face, watched little J tremble under her wrath, and watched Jenny's face crumble when she exiled her from New York, Blair had wished Jenny dead. Gone. Forever.

She had screamed it out into the night as she fell in a heap against a building, whispered it into the quiet confines of her bathroom that reeked of vomit, and sobbed it to her best friend as the blonde helplessly stroked her hair.

_I wish Jenny were dead. Gone. Forever._

Blair Waldorf's wish finally came true.

She would think this as she watched Dan Humphrey slump against a hospital wall, powerless against the sobs that shook his frame. She would think this as she watched the life seep out of the broken little seventeen-year-old girl.

She would think of how her words could've caused that accident, could've been an omen, a death wish that she'd handed down to the fragile-looking girl.

And so she sat, clothed in black attire that she quite disliked and clutching Chuck's hand as he whispered small words of comfort. She sat and watched as the mahogany casket was lowered, the sun glinting off its hardened veneer.

She watched as Rufus cried against Lily's silk-clad shoulder; as Dan did the same against Vanessa's shoulder; as Jenny's mother simply sobbed into her hands.

There was only one thought in her head throughout all of this, a thought that did nothing to alleviate the guilt that threatened to consume her.

_I didn't mean it.

* * *

_

tbc

**AN: Yes, I killed Jenny Humphrey. However, this story will not be a celebration of that-but rather, a darker, more angst-y tale. Rest assured that CB will be endgame. Many thanks to bethaboo for the beta and JosieSwan for helping with the storyline.  
**


	2. Chapter 1

**AN: Timeline note-In Atonement, Jenny leaves about three weeks after 3.22. In three weeks, S & B jetted off to Paris, C got shot and is recovering in Prague, Dan learned about the baby and is attempting to come to terms with that, N turned into C 2.0, V's hair got worse…oh wait, that's not pertinent to the story. I don't really like to use spoilers in my stories, rest assured Eva is not going to make an appearance. Thanks to bethaboo for being an amazing beta and thank you all for your wonderful feedback. Seriously, your reviews keep me inspired and that's what fuels this fic. I promise you'll get the other characters in the next chapter (which will be up soon!) and I realize many of you don't want to read about Jenny. So I apologize in advance and promise you a very fluffy CB oneshot I know you'll love-to be posted very, very soon.

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**

The inherent problem with Jenny Humphrey was that she had no boundaries, no voice telling her she had gone too far, and no limits to her ambition.

When she was merely a speck in the pond of Constance, her determination to become one of the girls-those fabulous, always perfect, sneering, beautiful girls-within Blair Waldorf's inner sanctum had been the birth of an ambition unrivaled in the Upper East Side. This ambition had alienated her from her family, led her to the first of her troubles with the law, and unquestionably changed the course of her future.

She could still recall the raw hurt in her mother's eyes when she had missed her mother's showing. But her mother didn't understand, and try as she might, Jenny could never make her understand. The undeniable, almost sinful, desire to be a part of the upper echelons of society could only be likened with Eve in the Garden of Eden. The Upper East Side itself was a compelling picture of beautiful people leading fabulous lives-who wouldn't want to paint themselves into such a portrait?

No, her mother would never understand. Her mother, her naïve, holier-than-thou mother would never understand because she still believed that it was _them_-the matrons of the Upper East Side and their inhumanely perfect spawn-who had transformed her daughter from the sweet, angelic Jenny Humphrey, into a cold, ambitious girl whose desires ran amuck in this perfectly painted picture.

But that was where Alison was wrong. There were no limits to Jenny Humphrey's ambition, and her mind didn't know to stop when she had gone too far. But it was not this _world_ that had changed her, but the very desire born from Jenny herself. That desire, the compelling, undeniable fire that burned within her very core was what changed her, hardened her.

And this unstoppable ambition also knew no bounds, and grew bored when there was nothing to challenge. When she had amassed the crown for herself she thought it was over. Finally, she could shed her little J status and become Queen J, ruling over Constance as she was meant to.

But this _monster_ inside her was bored. It didn't bode well with it that she was only Queen of Constance. No, she needed to be _more_. Nate as her escort, the drugs, the schemes, and the eventual broken friendships-were instances of proof that she fought for what she wanted and desired to become more. Until there was nothing left to desire and Jenny herself had nothing in the palms of her tiny hands.

And finally, Jenny Humphrey knew that she had gone too far, and a threat from the Queen B herself hung low over her head, throwing shadows over her life. Losing her virginity to Chuck was the straw that broke the camel's back. Not only had Blair's heart been broken once again, but Jenny had also been exiled from New York, from her home.

When Blair had stood, broken hearted in front of that hospital and threatening Jenny for all the Queen B was worth, something else changed. Finally, _finally_, Jenny had understood that she had gone too far, too deep into the rabbit's hole to claw her way out. Hudson, Jenny realized, was her fresh start. A place to throw the old little J out the window; to forget about the Upper East Side; to forget about Chuck and Blair, Nate and Serena; and a place to remember who Jenny Humphrey _should_ have become.

As the train rumbled underneath her, the passing country becoming a blur, Jenny leaned her head back and smiled. She reached into her miumiu purse-one of the last vestiges of luxury she had managed to bring along-and tore a sheet from a notebook.

Pen poised in hand, blonde hair tucked under a hat, and legs daintily crossed as Blair had taught her, Jenny Humphrey wrote one last goodbye to Blair Waldorf and Nate Archibald. Her former idol and her former love, she believed they both deserved this apology.

…

As she signed her name with a flourish, Jenny reflected on her letter, on Blair, on Chuck.

It was her fault. The crushing sense of guilt only added to the fact that she had been at fault, no matter what Rufus, Dan, or even Eric had tried to tell her otherwise.

She knew exactly what she had been doing. It was not the amber liquid that pulled her forward, but the promise of companionship. Chuck had been at his lowest point-she had known that much.

Jenny knew the extent of his feelings for Blair. He was so ridiculously in love with Blair that Jenny found it nearly frightening. The intensity of their shared glances was like watching the sun-almost blindingly painful. They loved so ferociously and passionately that it seemed they would burn everything in their path. It was raw, it was magnetic. It was Chuck and Blair, Blair and Chuck, at their finest. It was why she had extinguished that candle at first, knowing that what had transpired between her and Chuck was never meant to happen. When she had seen the diamond, a feeling of regret (a feeling quite foreign to one as ambitious as her) had seared through her very being.

Marriage. Was it so difficult to comprehend that Chuck had loved Blair so fiercely that he had contemplated the impossible? No one doubted that Chuck and Blair would get married one day. It was inevitable. It could be their second, or third marriage, they could have dozens of fights prior, but Chuck and Blair would always end up together.

Always. But no one had even considered marriage at this age. It was simply not done. Then again, when had Chuck and Blair ever been conventional?

So why had their inevitability been threatened by someone like her? Jenny knew that Chuck had committed the ultimate betrayal upon selling out Blair to his uncle. But she had forgiven him, had she not? The embrace that had happened beyond the glass wall, the love shared between the two undistorted even through the glass, had not been meant for her eyes. But she understood that it had represented forgiveness. Blair was ready to forgive Chuck, to move past that unsightly bump in their relationship.

It pained her slightly when Jenny realized that she had ruined them. She had played the lost little girl card, crying till she gained the support she had lost. It had scared her. The fact that she had finally lost her virginity, and to someone she had once despised. She had not felt special, cherished, or even _liked_. She had been a placeholder. A means to forget the pain that had been inflicted. It had not been Chuck's fault; she had known the state he was in, known that he hadn't wanted to be alone as much as she had. She had wanted it for the same reasons he did. To forget, if only for a moment.

And it pained her to think that she had essentially taken advantage of _him_. She would have to explain to Dan one day, set the record straight.

One day.

…

As her destination approached, she let her thoughts linger for a moment longer on the glass windows of luxury apartments, pinkberry with the girls, the rows upon rows of shoes in Bendels, and the thrilling feeling of sitting at the helm of Constance. Jenny knew that these moments were gone, part of a past she was ashamed of, but also a foundation to build a future on.

Jenny Humphrey sighed, and with that final breath of air she let go of two things: New York and Little J. She would begin anew, crafting herself an image not based on Blair Waldorf or Serena van der Woodsen-but a Jenny Humphrey that could pride herself on what she had done to get where she was.

The new Jenny Humphrey, she decided, would shed her past misfortunes like an out of season coat, and become whoever she was meant to be. She doubted she would ever come to terms with what had happened, doubted that she would ever earn forgiveness. But that didn't mean she couldn't _try_.

She looked out the window once more, past the rolling landscape and to the horizon. She was looking at her future.

But it seemed destiny had a different idea for Jenny Humphrey. For it was no sooner than after she had vowed to change, disaster struck, destroying a future she would never have.

At first, there was shock as she was thrown from her seat, and next, the wetness that seeped from her head and over her eyebrow. Jenny wanted to scream, wanted to cry, but her voice was nowhere to be found. There was something wedged into her lower leg, something sharp and painful. And somewhere, far away, she could hear the wailing cry of a baby without her mother.

And then, there was nothing.

_Exeunt_.

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tbc


	3. Chapter 2

**AN: Loving all your reviews, favorites, and alerts. Thank you all:) I won't lie, this chapter was a bit of a tear-jerker for me. One of the hardest to write (so far), and I hate asking for reviews, but if y'all could drop me a note telling me if my characters were at all OOC or just fine, I'd love you forever. Is this how they would react to Jenny's death? I'm inclined to think so, but I'd also love to hear what you think. Special thanks to bethaboo for beta-ing and to BforQueen for encouraging me on twitter.

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**

"S?" Blair called out as she waltzed into their shared suite at the Ritz. She sighed in relief as she stepped out of her ridiculously high Louboutins-the same ones Serena had dubbed an 'orgasm in shoe form'-reflecting on her night with a smile. "S?" She tried again, wondering where her best friend had gone off too this time. When Serena had opted for room service and _Sabrina_ instead of going out, Blair had rushed to check her friend's temperature.

"_S, we're in Paris. No use moping over Nate when he's probably screwing-"_

"_Don't!" Serena shut her eyes and covers her ears like a little girl, while Blair simply quirked an eyebrow. _

"_Fine. You can stay in here and mope with a box of chocolates instead of going out with your best friend. I'll be sure to let her know you care about her heartbreak as well."_

"_B," Serena said in that innocent-wouldn't-hurt-a-lamb voice of hers. "You know I'm here for you. I just don't feel like going out today."_

_She only heard the grunt of approval and the shuffle of shoes against the floor._

"_Have fun!" Serena called as Blair slammed the door._

"Serena?" Blair frowned and dropped her clutch on the table, rushing to Serena's room.

What she finds is unexpected, to say in the least. Serena sat in the middle of the expansive bed, phone in hand and silent tears pooled in the corners of her eyes.

"S?" Blair prodded gently, shedding her coat as she climbed onto the bed. As she took her place beside Serena, she silently cursed Nate for leaving her best friend in this state. "Serena, there's no use crying over-"

"Jenny." Serena said quietly, and Blair's back stiffens immediately.

"Don't say her name." Blair's voice is equally quiet, but deadly in its intent. "She has no place in this conversation. No place in our lives-"

"No," Serena cried as she buried her face in her hands. "She's gone."

Blair scoffed, eyeing Serena with a frown as memories of _that night_ flooded her head. "Of course she's gone. I sent that little blonde whore back to Hudson. Where she belongs." The sentence ends in triumph, though there was an underlying sadness in Blair's voice.

"She was in a train crash this morning."

It takes another two minutes before Serena can say the words she's been dreading (hoping? she's not sure anymore) to hear.

"She's on life support, but she's brain dead."

It's extraordinary, really, how one sentence can change things. How a few words can tear your world down (_"Stop trying to play the wife."_) or change your outlook (_"I love you too."_). In this case, a simple sentence, choked out through her best friend's sobs, changed everything.

_Gone._

Blair stood on shaky legs as she made her way out of the bedroom, and into the kitchen, the guilt weighing on her shoulders.

…

"Blair,"

She refused to meet Serena's gaze, concentrating her gaze on the marble tiled walls.

"B," Serena's voice is accusatory as the blonde sits down beside her, inadvertently pushing her closer to the toilet instead of away.

"I didn't." Blair replied evenly, her gaze still trained on the marble tiles.

"But you were going to," Serena said, and Blair nodded. There was no use in hiding it.

"But you _didn't_." Serena assured her, hugging her tightly. "I'm so-"

"Don't." Blair whispered. She shut her eyes tightly, fighting the bile that crawled up her throat, fighting the urge to purge the entire box of macarons she had consumed in a fit of desperation.

She was better. She was okay. She was _alive_. Jeopardizing her health, her _life_, for something as insignificant as a dress size seemed irrelevant when a sixteen-year-old had, for all intents and purposes, died just hours before.

Died because of her.

"Let's get to bed," Serena suggested quietly. "We can figure out what we want to do in the morning."

Blair swallowed a lump in her throat as she registered the meaning of Serena's words.

"We have to go back," she uttered. It was a simple fact, but the thought of what awaited them back in New York at the very least frightened her. "I don't want to go back."

"We'll talk about it in the morning," Serena refused to meet her eyes as they walked out of the bathroom.

…

Blair didn't sleep much that night. Even when Serena's quiet breathing had evened into a gentle rhythm, Blair lay awake, staring at the chandelier above the bed.

_Gone_. Serena's words reverberated in her head, and Blair recalled what she had said about Jenny. _Little blonde whore_. She was gone. It was difficult to grasp, the fact that Jenny Humphrey was completely, and utterly, _gone_. Even though Blair had hoped to never see the girl again, her mind reeled at the concept of never being able to _talk_ to Jenny again. She understood the emotion welling throughout her entire being.

_Regret_.

What had her last words been to Jenny? Blair could only recall the anger that had bubbled up between her lips, the hatred she'd possessed. Blair could only recall the sight of Jenny's tears, streams of mascara running down her cheeks. She searched her mind for a memory that could alleviate her guilt, but she came up empty.

Blair turned on her side, squeezing her eyes tighter as the tears threatened to spill over.

…

"How are you holding up?" Serena's voice drifted into the room, and Blair paused at the doorway; having spotted the blonde curled up on the couch, phone by her ear. The late afternoon sunlight filtered through the curtains, and Blair quickly checked the time on the clock opposite to her. Had she really slept through the entire afternoon?

"Dan, I-" Blair watched silently as Serena ran a hand through her unruly hair, clearly troubled. "I'm so sorry."

Blair could hear the pain in Serena's voice, and she knew that same pain was reflected tenfold in Dan's voice.

"Jenny was-" Serena paused, and Blair knew that Serena was at a loss for words. "Jenny was a great girl, Dan." Serena finished awkwardly, the false words cold at her lips.

Even from her spot by the bedroom, Blair could hear Dan's mirthless laugh.

She doesn't catch what Dan says next, but Serena's response is enough to hazard a guess.

"It's not Blair's fault."

_Yes it is_, Blair can almost hear Dan saying; and she is loath to disagree.

"Dan," Serena's voice is steely. "You're grieving. I understand. But you have no right to take this out on Blair. She was hurt too-"

There was a pause, a stillness in the air that was almost too painful to bear.

"No," Serena agreed quietly. "She's not dead."

Another pause, and Blair leaned her head against the doorframe, her eyes shut, wishing she could block out what she had just heard.

"You don't mean that," Serena's voice, although she was attempting to be quiet, still carried over to Blair's ears. "Dan, she's my best friend. You don't mean that."

This time, there was no pause as Serena rambled on. "What happened was an accident. Blair didn't orchestrate it, and she doesn't deserve to die either" Serena took a deep breath.

Clearing her throat, Blair stepped out from the confines of the shadows, her expression unreadable as Serena whipped around.

"Dan, I've got to go." Serena watched her carefully as she made her way to the opposite chair, her face betraying no expression.

"I-I love you too," Serena said in bewilderment, and Blair raised an eyebrow. "And give my love to my mom and Eric," Serena amended quickly.

"Bye."

Serena sat, phone in hand, an expression of puzzlement on her face. Shaking her head slightly, she turned to Blair with a comforting smile.

"How did you sleep?"

"Fine," Blair answered monotonously. "You should've woken me up earlier."

"I didn't see a point," Serena apologized with a shrug. "I talked to my mom earlier today."

Serena paused, attempting to read Blair's expression. "They're keeping her on life support for two more days. We could stay for a few more days, take the Bass jet-"

"No." Blair shook her head vehemently. "I already called Daddy last night. He's sending a plane tonight."

"Are you sure?" Serena ventured cautiously. "We can stay for a few days if you-"

"There's no sense in putting it off," Blair admitted. "We have to go back. And I'd rather not have our time in Paris dampened by-by Jenny's…"

Serena nodded, pulling her knees to her chest as she looked at Blair sadly. "My mom said she wasn't able to get a hold of Chuck." Blair winced inwardly, but maintained her composure. If these past three weeks had taught her anything, it was how to bury her hurt over what had transpired. "Nobody's heard from him in a few weeks, apparently. Do you know if-"

"I don't know _anything,_" Blair cut in sharply. "If you recall, the last time we saw each other he had just fucked-" the name caught in her throat, and she found herself unable to form the words.

Serena sighed, standing up and stretching her arms above her head. "We've got one afternoon left in Paris, B." She grinned, but it was forced enough to look comical, even to Blair. "Let's enjoy it."

Blair could only smile half-heartedly as Serena tried on a yellow sundress that reminded her of another blonde in a ruffled yellow ball gown and a delicate gold mask.

…

Chuck frowned at the mush that constituted as dinner, shooting another glare at the hefty Czech nurse who had been assigned to him. He hadn't even been able to use his name to have some sway because he knew that as soon as they learned of his real name, Lily would be on a plane faster than you could say "I'm Chuck Bass".

Instead, he told them that he was an orphan (it was technically true) by the name of Victor Martin. He had used his Parisian bank account to pay the hospital bills, knowing that Lily had no knowledge of its existence.

As he took in the mush in front of him, he wondered if it would be so bad if they found out-at the very least he would be free to eat something other than this gruel. But a single rationalization killed the thought immediately. Blair. He didn't want her pity. If she forgave him because he was shot-and not because she still loved him, he knew their reunion would be meaningless.

He turned to his phone instead, the one he had bribed the janitor to buy for him when he had discovered his old Blackberry had been stolen. Along with the rest of his things-including her ring.

It was a habit of his, to check Gossip Girl daily while constrained to the hospital bed. He had learned of Georgina's pregnancy (he wasn't really surprised. He was shocked it hadn't happened before this.), Nate's forays into his little black book (he wasn't surprised in the least. Some of the things those girls could do…), and Serena and Blair's trip to Paris.

Paris. They were so close-closer than he had expected. As he recuperated on the hospital bed he had imagined grand romantic gestures and surprises in Paris. Had imagined showing up and winning her back in the City of Love.

The only problem was, he could never act on any of those plans

He idly wondered what Blair was up to in Paris today-Gossip Girl had been incredibly useful in describing Blair's whereabouts as of late. But as the page loaded, the picture was not of a suntanned Blair shopping on the Champs Elysees, but of a burning train. His eyes ran over the post with alarming quickness, the phrases jumping out at him.

_**One of the greatest tragedies in the history of Gossip Girl has come to pass. My sources tell me that Little J was onboard the train to Hudson this morning. You know the one; it's been plastered all over your TVs for the past hour. Little J was on her way to live with her mother-all the doing of the Queen B, of course. Rumor is, she sent little J packing when it was discovered that J had slept with C. Shocked? I was. Almost as shocked as when I heard this…little J survived, but barely. The poor girl is brain dead. We'll miss you little J. To the Humphreys, my deepest condolences.**_

_**Wonder what B has to say?**_

_**You know you love me, XOXO**_

_**Gossip Girl.**_

The room swam before his eyes as another wave of pain overtook his body, numbing the thoughts that were forming in his head.

_This was your fault._

His fingers shook as he typed in the familiar number. He had not talked to the littlest van der Woodsen since leaving for Prauge, their last encounter still fresh in his mind.

"_You know, I really thought you had changed," Eric sneered, an expression so unlike him that Chuck had reeled back in disbelief._

"_Eric, I can explain, I-"_

"_Took advantage of Jenny? You know, Chuck, this is a new low, even for you. She's your step-sister!"_

"_I didn't-"_

"_Whatever, Chuck. We both know what happened at the Kiss on the Lips party two years ago, and I truly believed you'd changed since then. I guess not."_

_The disgust on Eric's face, coupled with Blair's earlier rejection, sent him over the edge, pushing Eric into the wall by his shoulders. _

"_I didn't take advantage of her," he growled, and Eric's malicious expression changed in seconds, replaced with an expression of fear. _

"_Get off me," Eric said quietly, and Chuck acquiesced, backing away in surrender. _

"_I didn't mean to-"_

_But it was too late, the younger boy already stomping away in the direction of the elevator._

The ringtone in his ear drowned out his thoughts, if only for a moment.

_This_

"Hello?" a quiet voice on the other end answered.

_Was_

"Eric." He replied easily, every bit the Chuck Bass he had been before the shooting. He was suddenly glad Eric couldn't see his face-he was only able to mask the emotion in his voice.

_Your_

"Chuck?" The question was a mix of anger and sadness-but mostly relief.

_Fault._

…

"How was your flight?" Lily asked, setting down a cup of tea in front of her daughter.

Serena smiled tiredly, taking the tea with a grateful nod. "Fine. How are _you_?"

"We're holding up the best we can," Lily said with a sad smile. "Dan and Rufus have all but moved in at the hospital-and Eric rarely spends time away from Jenny's room. He- I'm not sure how he'll take her death."

Serena nodded, knowing what her mother meant. "I'll talk to him," she promised. "Jenny wouldn't want him to-"

"He keeps talking about seeing her again," Fear seeped into Serena's heart, and as much as she had been distraught over Jenny's death, she knew that her brother would take it even harder. "I don't know what to do, what to _say_"

"Mom," Serena turned to her mother, tears in her own eyes. "He'll be okay."

Lily nodded, blinking back tears. "It's been so quiet," she mused. "I can't bear to be at the hospital too long. But I've tried, Serena, I've tried to be there for him. For _them_."

"Rufus?" Serena asked quietly.

Lily nodded, brushing away another tear. "And Dan. I can't imagine what it's like, losing a child. "

"You'll never have to know," Serena promised. "I'll talk to Eric when we visit."

She hugged her mom one last time before turning to leave, clutching her a little tighter usual. _Just in case_.

"Serena?" Lily called as Serena pressed the button for the elevator. "One more thing. Dan…he's not taking this well."

"I doubt that he would," Serena said ruefully "His sister is brain dead."

"Just be there for him," Lily suggested. "He needs a friend right now, even if all he's doing is pushing them away. He's not-he's not himself, and he doesn't mean the things he's saying."

Serena recalled the phone conversation, the almost sincere _I love you_ at the end, and nodded to her mom with determination in her eyes.

She would be a friend helping another friend through his grief. Nothing more.

…

"Hey man,"

Nate dropped a box on the side table, the scent of freshly baked pastries wafting through the air.

They did nothing to tempt his non-existent appetite.

"How are you holding up?"

"Fine," Dan said sarcastically. "I'm fucking fine, watching my brain dead sister breathe with the help of about ten machines."

"Whoa," Nate held his hands up in surrender. "Dan, I'm sorry for what happened."

"Yeah, I know." Dan sighed, running his fingers through his unwashed hair. "It's just- I don't want to-I can't-"

"It's okay," Nate said awkwardly, patting Dan on the shoulder as he dissolved into another round of sobs.

"Serena called just before I got here," Nate blurted out when Dan's sobs had subsided. He winced inwardly at his words, but continued on. "She wasn't sure if she could call you and she wanted you to know she and Blair would be-"

"Blair?" his voice is deadly quiet, and Nate wonders at how he can be sobbing one moment and angry the next. "What the fuck is Blair doing, coming here?"

"She knew Jenny too," Nate supplied unhelpfully, as he was wondering the same thing.

"She _hated_ Jenny," Dan reminded him angrily "She's the reason Jenny's _dead._"

"Dan-" Nate tried, but he was cut off immediately.

"Don't _Dan_ me, you know it's true. If she didn't send Jenny away, Jenny would be _alive._"

"You know that's not true," Nate tried again. "I get it, you're angry, but none of this is Blair's fault."

"You're right," Dan sneered, and Nate recoiled at his voice, which was so unlike Dan Humphrey. "It's _Chuck's_ fault as well."

"It's not-"

"You know what Nate? If you're just going to sit there and deny the truth, I'd rather you get out."

Shock played out across his features as he registered Dan's words. It was as if he had completely changed, his demeanor morphed into one that was completely unlike Dan Humphrey.

But as Nate's gaze traveled over the broken form of Jenny Humphrey, he understood that Dan was grieving, his actions and words could be justified as the ramblings of grief.

"I'll see you later," he said quietly, eyeing Dan from the corner of his eye as he exited the room. Dan's eyes were trained solely on his sister, his red eyes never leaving her face.

…

"Blair?"

She jumped slightly at the sound of her mother's voice, straightening her skirt as her mother rounded the corner.

"Dorota said you were home," Eleanor offered as an explanation. "Your father called me to tell me you were coming back early."

Blair nodded, fingering the rough edge of a lacy pillow. "Serena and I thought it would be best if we came back early."

"I'm assuming you heard about Jenny?" Eleanor asked quietly, sitting opposite of Blair.

The name sent another spike of regret through Blair, and she only nodded again, still playing with the lace. It seemed odd that something so delicate and easily torn could also feel coarse under the pads of her fingertips.

"Such a shame," Eleanor lamented. "She had such a bright future in front of her."

The regret mixed in slightly with jealousy, and Blair found herself tearing a hole in the delicate fabric.

"She was one of your friends, wasn't she?" Eleanor inquired, and Blair found herself gripped with a strange desire to laugh.

"We were...acquaintances" Blair said in reluctance. She wouldn't go so far as to call herself and Jenny _friends_, but enemies seemed inappropriate at such a time.

Eleanor nodded, attempting an encouraging smile as she patted her daughter's cheek fondly. "I'm just glad it wasn't you, darling."

Blair blanched at the odd display of motherly love, and a tiny voice in her head told her that quite a few people wished that it had been her instead.

"I don't know what I would have done if it was you," Eleanor said quietly. "I've never really been a mother to you, have I?"

She plastered a smile on as she assuaged Eleanor's guilt with meaningless assurances. Seemingly placated, her mother kissed her forehead, a promise of brunch a whisper against her hair.

The smile dropped from her face almost immediately after her mother rounded the corner, leaving Blair to wonder what had changed in Eleanor.

She realized that _Jenny_, or rather, Jenny's death, had changed her mother. Changed her from a cold and slightly neglectful mother into an almost unfamiliar woman. Eleanor was showing-in that detached way of hers-_love_. In the completely unusual manner of Eleanor Waldorf, her mother was showing her that she cared.

_I'm just glad it wasn't you_.

Wasn't that appropriate for a mother to say to her daughter? Blair had to wonder at her mother's words-they had been so unlike the cruelty she had been dealt years prior. She was feeling remorseful, Blair decided. It could just have easily been Blair on that hospital bed once upon a time, and Eleanor had only just realized that.

A tiny smile, a smile of hope, blossomed on her lips as she recalled her mother's words once more.

_I don't know what I would have done if it was you._

…

"Hey Dan."

"Vanessa." he acknowledged, glancing up at her briefly before resuming his count of the green tiles.

"I heard about Jenny. I didn't know if you wanted me here." she paused for a second, rethinking her words. "Well, I'm sorry for-"

"Don't, Vanessa. Just don't."

"Okay," she whispered, sitting beside him. His hand found hers in an instant, and it was through his crushing grip that Vanessa realized the extent of his grief.

"I don't want to go back in just yet," he confessed. "Will you stay with me?"

She nodded as tears threatened to spill over.

…

Blair had not expected the guilt that assaulted her the moment she walked through the hospital doors.

It was as if every small piece of regret that she had experienced since hearing the news had snowballed into the leaden ball of guilt in her chest.

Every step she took, her hand clutching Serena's tightly, did nothing to lessen the guilt that threatened to consume her.

They arrived at her room and Serena reached instinctively for the doorknob, before a voice interrupted them both.

"Serena!" Rufus called as he approached the two girls, coffees in hand. "And…Blair."

"Rufus!" Serena cried, "I'm so sorry about-"

"Thank you, Serena," Rufus replied. "It means a lot that you're here."

Serena nodded, looking sideways at a silent Blair. She nudged her best friend slightly, hoping that propriety would win out in the end.

"Eric's in there," Rufus said quietly. "I'm sure he would both be glad to see you. Dan's…out at the moment, but he'll be back son. Vanessa was here too, and Nate said he'd drop by later."

Serena nodded, glancing one last time at Blair as she stepped inside the room.

Rufus turned to follow her, and for the first time, Blair noticed the grief etched around his eyes-the tiredness in his face and the almost despondent slope of his shoulders.

"Rufus I-" she paused to collect herself as he turned, with nary a trace of resentment in his tired face. "I'm sor-"

He shook his head, "I know, Blair. Thank you."

It was obvious to her that he thought her words were out of propriety rather than true compassion.

"I didn't mean for this to happen," she tried again. "I didn't want that train to crash-"

"I know you didn't," he replied simply. "I'll have you know, your threat meant nothing to me, and it certainly didn't affect my decision to send her to Hudson. She became a different person here, she changed too much, saw too much. She needed a change of pace, a change of _people_."

Blair nodded, and satisfied with his piece, Rufus walked past her and into the room. He turned at the last moment, before the door shut completely.

And he saw a girl. A young girl, her hands limp and shoulders clenched. Her face betraying the emotion she worked so hard to hide.

Rufus half-expected Blair to come into the room as well, but as he sat down beside his daughter and passed coffee to Eric, the door remained closed.

…

Blair had caught a glimpse into the room before the door shut behind Rufus. She had seen the mass of dirty blonde hair and the numerous machines keeping _her_ alive. She had heard the beeping, but the sound of sobbing drowned out the noise almost entirely. Lily had her arm around Serena, tears streaming down his own face as Serena cried into her hands. Eric was behind them, his face ashen as he looked at the girl on the bed. There was another woman there too-Jenny's mother, Blair realized-silent tears running down her cheeks as she stood a little ways away, as if she couldn't bear to be near her dying (_dead_) daughter.

Right before the door shut, she caught sight of Rufus' face-a flicker of pity weaving through his tiredness.

And then all she could see was a pastel green door and a white doorknob.

She stared at that door for an indeterminable amount of time, wrestling with the decision to go in. Blair knew that she didn't have to go in, had given her apologies and said her condolences. Decorum dictated as much, but she didn't need to go into the hospital room. But a part of her, a minuscule part, wanted to go in. She wanted to be there for Serena and Eric, but mostly she wanted to see for herself the extent of the damage she had inflicted.

Instead, she found herself retracing her steps back to the front of the hospital, the guilt bearing down upon her frail shoulders.

Her left hand clutched her bag tightly, her right hand closing around the hospital door with forced purposefulness. She pushed the door open into the bright sunshine of a New York afternoon in the summer.

The heavy summer air of New York was a welcome respite from the unnatural chill in the hospital. A bone chilling cold that had not solely been due to the air conditioning.

But it was not only the humidity that met her upon her exit, but a tall, disheveled, brunette with tired eyes and a cane in his left hand.

The weight of the day, the exhaustion borne from travelling and the emotional display she had just witnessed, all became too much to bear as his eyes sought hers.

"Blair-" he croaked, his voice so far from the deep, smooth drawl she was used to. Brown eyes met brown, his lost, and hers tired. Time stopped, if only for a moment, while they stared at each other with hope (_him_) and betrayal (_her_). And then, as if the moment had never happened, the din of the city reached her ears once more.

"Stay away from me," she whispered as she brushed past him.

Her eyes were miraculously dry as she stepped towards her waiting car, not daring to look back.

Once within its confines, however, she was powerless against the sobs that consumed her.

* * *

tbc


	4. Chapter 3

**AN: Vanessa and Dan…is it terrible to say I almost always skim over their scenes in GG? Anyways, I have changed their SL slightly to fit my needs-Vanessa and Dan have been somewhat broken up since the finale because of G, and V has come to terms with the fact that Georgina is pregnant. Also, to those who truly believe that Blair would feel no guilt over Jenny's death-I firmly believe she would. Because even if Jenny had slept with Chuck, I don't think Blair would want her dead. It's different between wishing someone were dead and actually meaning it. The last scene has been written since the finale, a bit of an alternate ending to Oh Star-though a bit re-written for this chapter. It's one I hold near and dear to my heart. Much love to my beta, bethaboo and to LisaLevine for her incredible insight. And a thousand thank yous to you lovely reviewers, alert-ers, and favorite-ers. Without further ado, chapter 3.

* * *

**

Her phone was ringing again, and she idly wondered if she should turn it off. She didn't have to look at the display to know who was calling; his insistent calling had started an hour after the hospital and had not ceased since.

She sighed as she rolled onto her back, her fingers splaying over her stomach as the ringing continued. She had gotten used to it as of the past two hours, until it was merely a dull ringing in the back of her mind that she ignored with relative ease.

Her stomach was a flat plane of smooth, milky skin, and it had been that way ever since she could remember. The only time her stomach expanded would be after consuming large amounts of food that had one purpose-to be purged from her stomach.

It was slightly laughable that she ate food for the sole purpose of vomiting it back up. Almost like setting a house on fire for the sole purpose of playing hero. Except Blair was no hero; she wasn't saving anyone-only destroying herself further. And her destruction had almost become _easy_, the end of her toothbrush (or if worst came to worse, her pointer finger), easily triggering a practiced reaction.

She would cough, and she would choke slightly-and then there would be the immense feeling of relief as she expunged the food from her body. She would throw one final, disgusted look at the toilet before flushing away the evidence. And then she would rinse her mouth and brush her teeth, wash her hands twice and examine herself in the mirror.

It was a cycle, a routine of imperfections becoming perfect once more through the darkest of deeds.

….

"Have you talked to Dan about this?"

"No," Georgina admitted. "I couldn't-I didn't _want_ to face Dan. Not like this."

Rufus sighed as he continued packing a change of clothes for Dan, his hair washed and clean for the first time in days. "Georgina, this decision isn't yours to make alone. I know Dan hasn't been the best supporter, but you have to give him time."

Georgina shook her head adamantly, her hand lying slightly on top of her swollen stomach. "He was fine before the accident happened."

"Talk to him," Rufus told her, "I don't know what you want me to say, Georgina. You know, when Dan told me you were pregnant-"

"You weren't surprised, I know." Georgina replied with a roll of her eyes. "I don't care what you think."

"I never said that that," Rufus said hesitantly, and he knew that Georgina caught the lie as well. "I just think-"

"I will _not,_" Georgina said adamantly. "I'm not keeping it. I don't want it and that's final."

"Georgina," Rufus stressed again. "Think about the decision you're making."

"I _have_," she replied calmly. "I'm simply here until I can get this _thing_ out of me, and be on with my life." She paused to take another breath, her hand still lying across her stomach. "I only came here because I needed to disappear." Rufus opened his mouth, as if to ask yet another question "Don't ask questions, Rufus."

Her tone was mocking, and Rufus sighed once more, his exhaustion becoming more apparent. "I won't tell you what to do," he said simply. "Only that I still wonder what my life would have been like if Lily hadn't given Scott away."

With those final words, he left the loft with quiet footsteps and his head held high. The door of the loft clicked behind him, leaving her alone once more. The lie she had spun had been one fabricated to hide her true feelings, her true intentions. Because Georgina, no matter how heartless and cruel she had been, didn't want to be alone.

Georgina sank to her knees as she felt the baby-_their_ baby-kick once more. And suddenly, she didn't feel so alone anymore. It was odd, that the girl who had once professed to have a doctor on speed dial precisely for abortions (though surprisingly, she had never once needed it before this) was now harboring a secret desire to keep her child. The same girl who had proclaimed far and wide that she would give up the child upon delivering it also yearned to play out the cheesy scene in which she held their baby while his father looked on adoringly. It was why she had come back, though it had been a rash decision followed by an even odder desire for anchovy pizza.

From the moment her parents had unceremoniously dumped her into her nanny's arms, Georgina had been alone. Growing up as a child in the Upper East Side entailed as much, but she had looked upon others-Blair Waldorf in particular-with their perfect families and perfect lives with jealousy.

It was why she had related so well with Chuck-whose mother was dead and father was absent-and Serena, whose father had left and mother was hopping from husband to husband. It was also why she particularly detested Blair Waldorf. The girl had it all; a doting father and a legion of friends and yet she had set out to corrupt those closest to Georgina. She had changed Serena first, made the ultimate party girl become demure and docile. Once she had successfully turned the party girl into another society princess, not unlike herself, Blair had set out to corrupt Chuck. She had completely conned him into a relationship, turned him from the ultimate playboy into a devoted, utterly whipped boyfriend.

Yes, Georgina thought bitterly. Blair Waldorf had everything and more-leaving Georgina completely alone.

But there had been one person who had seemed immune to the charms of Blair Waldorf. One person who had also seen past Georgina's hardened exterior and seemed to actually _like_ her. It had been more than sex-like it had been with Chuck-and more than partying-as it had been with Serena-with Dan. And it was the reason she had come back, eight months pregnant and simply counting the days till she would be released from what she liked to call pregnancy hell.

The only problem was, she knew that what she had gone through these past months would be nothing compared to having to give up her child.

…

"They're doing it today," Serena said softly, stifling the sob that threatened to rise in her throat.

She hadn't known that it would be this hard, losing someone, least of all someone she had hated. It was almost dreamlike, the situation that they had been caught in, not unlike insects in a spider's web. Held captive by the thin threads of a reality they couldn't quite grasp, they could only struggle uselessly against their bonds.

Serena didn't understand why she had cried those tears, a little voice telling her that it was _better_ this way. This way, Jenny would be out of their lives for good, her meddling would cease, and they would be free to live their lives in relative peace. But Serena knew that those words were a lie-knew that at the end of the day, she would rather have a meddling, irritating, _living_ Jenny Humphrey than one who was brain dead and on her way to the funeral home.

"Blair?" she questioned, having heard nothing from her best friend.

"I'm here," came the reply. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"B, I know you and Jenny had your…differences." Serena could almost hear the quiet scoff on the other end, and she knew that Blair and Jenny's problems were more than petty differences. "But she's-well, it's kind of hard to hate someone who's dead."

"I know," Blair agreed quietly. "It doesn't make what she did hurt any less, but I can't bring myself to hate her."

"Blair, I know what Chuck and Jenny did was wrong, but-"

"No buts, Serena. I'm not discussing this with you."

"You should know…yesterday, when Chuck came to the hospital-"

"Serena. I want nothing to do with that Basstard, so can we please stop talking about this?"

"Okay," Serena acquiesced with a sigh, knowing this was one battle she was bound to lose. "But you're going to have to face him sooner or later, B."

"I'd prefer later," Blair told her. "But I do suppose I'll see him at the-"

_Funeral_. The worst of society functions, the last one she had attended still fresh in her mind.

"Yes," Serena agreed. "I guess we'll be seeing him there. Rufus has already started making…arrangements. Everyone's saying goodbye, they're taking her off life support tonight. Even a few of Jenny's minions came, you wouldn't believe some of the things those girls said…anyways, I-I want you here, Blair. When it happens."

"S, I don't think I can-"

"Please," Serena pleaded once more. "I need to be strong-for Eric, for Dan-and I can't do it without you. I know it would mean a lot to Dan that you're there too." She winced at the last sentence, knowing that in Dan's current state of mind, he would be anything _but_ glad to see Blair Waldorf when his sister was taken off life support.

"I'll think about it," Blair said. "S, I've got to go. Mother's asking me to look over her newest designs, and as much as this is an anomaly, I want to…"

"I understand," Serena said quickly. "I'll text you later."

"Sounds good," Blair replied, her voice oddly high to Serena's ears. "I'll talk to you later."

"Blair, wait I-" but the dial tone reached her ears before the sentence was finished.

Serena sighed, throwing her phone down in frustration as she paced the room. Throughout their conversation, minus the angry outbursts about the 'Basstard', Blair had been oddly detached, as if Jenny's impending death had caused her to isolate herself from the world entirely.

It was the complete opposite of Serena, which had always been the way of the two girls. Serena needed comfort, needed companionship at a time like this, while Blair preferred to self-destruct in peace.

_Self-destruct._ The word stuck in her subconscious, and for a moment Serena stopped worrying about her family, stopped grieving the loss of Jenny Humphrey. In that moment, Serena had a thought, an observation that could not be ignored.

_No, _she thought quickly. It couldn't be-there wasn't-yet all the signs were there. The obvious detachment, the abrupt endings to calls, and the way Blair had picked at her lunch of cherry tomatoes and plain lettuce. The striking red of the tomatoes matching the ruby red of her lips, perfectly pursed as Blair sat in complete silence.

As Serena continued pacing, she found herself worrying more and more over her best friend, who was most likely kneeling over a porcelain bowl at the moment, instead of at the Waldorf atelier.

…

"Goodbye, Jenny." Vanessa whispered, touching Jenny's cheek with the tips of her fingers. Tears rolled relentlessly down her cheeks as she watched the young girl on the bed. She felt Dan's presence behind her, comforting and oppressive at the same time.

"You were like a little sister to me," Vanessa continued, her voice cracking slightly. "Yet you taught me so much. You taught me how fiercely one could love another, and you taught me the importance of family."

Vanessa took another deep, shuddering breath as she clutched Jenny's limp hand in her own.

"I'll miss the way we used to go eat perogies on Saturday afternoons and see movies at the Veronika," she whispered, pausing to wipe the back of her hand on her cheek. "I'll miss your fashion critiques, and I'll miss the sound of your sewing machine. You were almost unrecognizable to me this past year-and some time before that."

Vanessa heard Dan's sharp intake of breath, but she pressed on. "But I'll always remember you as the girl who could never stop talking on those same Saturday afternoons. I'll remember you as the girl who I got into a pancake fight with one morning. I'll remember you, always."

She felt Dan's arms wrap around her waist as she stepped back, and she allowed herself a moment in his embrace.

"I'm going to go," she said quietly. "I can't be here, when…"

She trailed off, looking down at her feet as the words hung in the air between them.

Dan merely nodded, and Vanessa watched the tears pool in his eyes once more. Dan had never been one for tears, had always been the one to lighten everyone's spirits when needed.

"I'm going to South America," Vanessa offered into the silence. It seemed that lack of tact seemed to go along with grief, but Vanessa knew no better way to tell him. "I was offered an assistant position in a documentary, and I'm going to take it."

Dan nodded again, a melancholy expression on his face. "I leave this Monday."

"That's right after Jenny's…" Dan's words trailed off once again as his eyes found his sister's broken form.

"I'm sorry," Vanessa offered. "I need to get away from here for a while. The job came at the perfect time, and I couldn't give it up. I'm sorry Dan, I just couldn't."

"I suppose I can't convince you not to go," Dan replied evenly, his voice betraying no emotion. Though his eyes told her that he didn't want her to go-if only because he _needed_ her.

"I've made up my mind," Vanessa said determinedly.

"I need to get away for a while too," Dan admitted. "I don't know how I'll be able to go back to the loft after she's…gone. It won't feel the same."

"You need to stay here Dan," ignoring the warning look from him, Vanessa pressed on. "Georgina's due any day now, and though she says she doesn't need anyone, she needs _you_."

"Nothing," Dan muttered. "That's nothing compared to this. Jenny's _gone_, Vanessa."

The ice in his words chilled her to the bone, and she fought back the angry retort.

"I'll see you," Vanessa said instead, her words unsure and her knees shaky.

Taking one last look at the girl on the bed, she turned to leave, stepping towards _her_ future.

…

"Eric," Chuck greeted, and Eric looked at his phone in surprise. Their last phone conversation had been awkward, to say in the least, with the elder refusing to answer Eric's questions as to where he had been. And their last encounter had culminated in hospital security pulling a screaming Dan Humphrey away from a glowering Chuck Bass.

"Chuck," he returned. "How are you?"

"I've been better,"

"I'm sorry for what happened, at the hospital yesterday." Eric said hesitantly, remembering his (step)brother's adamant refusal at an explanation. The limp, the cane, the disappearance-none of it had been divulged, even at Lily's insistent pleading "I didn't know Dan would-"

"Essentially try to knock me out once more? No harm done, little brother, I've learned to dodge Humphrey's punches."

"Chuck. About-"

"It's like my scarf. I think the cane adds a certain charm to being Chuck Bass."

"It's not the cane," Eric said tiredly. "Though why you're limping-"

"I hurt my leg," And at Chuck's defensive voice, Eric prickled.

"Where have you _been_?" Eric pressed once more. "No one's heard from you in weeks. Even you didn't disappear like this when…"

"When Bart died?"

"I didn't mean-"

"You did," Chuck said simply.

"Chuck, everyone was worried-"

"I was in Prague," came the reply. It was the most anyone had gotten out of him.

"What were you doing in Prague?" Eric asked, knowing the answer in the back of his mind.

"Trying to forget."

It was a patented Chuck Bass reaction. Only Eric knew that the drinking, the drugs, the women only _added_ to the pain. They were like Novocain. They only dulled the pain for the shortest amount of time, and once the numbness wore off, the pain only intensified tenfold.

Eric knew this because once upon a time, Eric van der Woodsen had attempted to take his own life. Had sat in a bathroom with a razor to his pale skin, his fingers shaking as the tip of the blade pressed against his flesh. The harsh artificial lighting had glinted off the metal blade menacingly, but it was all forgotten when the tip of the blade bit into pale skin. He had watched in fascination as the red seeped out of his arm at an alarming pace, staining the blade crimson. Because the numbness wasn't _anesthetizing_ enough anymore. It wasn't enough to take away the pain, or even to dull it. And Eric had believed that the only way to dull such continual pain was to end his existence.

But Eric had since learned that the only way to eliminate such pain was to learn to deal with it. To face it.

He could only hope Chuck would find the same revelation before his end met him.

"You're not forgetting."

"I'm not?" was the harsh reply.

"Running away doesn't mean you'll forget." Eric threw back. "It's a lot easier, isn't it? To run. To pretend. To forget. But it's never going to leave you."

The silence that greeted him worried him-if only for a moment. Because Eric knew that Chuck had not hung up.

Chuck had listened.

"It's never going to leave you," he repeated. "It's going to haunt you until you face it head on."

It was another two minutes before a barely audible sigh was heard.

"I was in an alley…"

…

Though Serena's guess had been somewhat true, Blair Waldorf was not kneeling over a porcelain bowl at the moment.

(But that didn't mean she wasn't about to)

At the moment, she was shoveling half a pie into her mouth, tears blurring her vision as she thought back on Serena's words.

She had known she would have to encounter Chuck again. They ran in the same circles, _hell_, he was her best friend's stepbrother after all. It was inevitable that she would have to see him, see his woefully handsome face and confront the very _real _reality. The reality that she had been betrayed, not _once_, but _twice_, by the one she had loved.

And it had hurt. A hurt that cut deeper than any physical injury, deeper than any pain she could inflict on herself.

…

"What happened to the ring?" Unable to grasp the enormity of the information that had been thrust at him in the most alarming matter, Eric could only latch on to the most surprising information.

"I've got four PIs looking for it," came the admission. "I'm going to find it Eric."

"Blair-"

"She'll never know."

Wincing at the blunt reply, Eric knew that his persuasion was futile-and a he attempted a different tactic.

"Blair's going to the hospital with Serena today."

"For moral support?" Eric could hear the attempted sneer in Chuck's words, but they fell flat. His voice was tired, as if he were bearing a burden too heavy for anyone else to bear.

"Would you…" Eric trailed off uncertainly, knowing his awkward question had been posed at an awkward time. But Eric had always had a knack for uncertain timing, for turning the most uncomfortable situations in his favor. "Dan won't do anything. Would you come along as well? I don't want to ask, but-"

"Yes."

"Yes?" Eric repeated, in the midst of thinking about what Chuck and Blair in the same room would entail.

"I'll go along with you."

His answers were laconic, almost as if he were holding back once more.

"Thanks," Eric replied, equally confused through his muddled brain. The past few days had moved at a sluggish pace. Almost as if Jenny were lurking around each corner, Eric would see a flash of white-blonde hair and jump a foot in the air. It hadn't set in. The reality hadn't full sunk into his mind yet, and a piece of him half-hoped that this was a dream. A nightmare that one would wake up to in a cold sweat, tears at the corner of your eyes, a realization that you couldn't _bear_ to see them dead.

Lily's hovering-and Serena's once she had returned from France-had not helped in the least. The shock had not passed; the situation still slightly surreal; the reality was still slightly out of his reach.

But Eric knew that once the monitor stopped beeping, and the piercing sound of a flat line reached his ears, reality would come crashing down upon him as suddenly as the onset of a tropical storm.

The grey overtaking the misleading sunshine, the abrupt thunder and raindrops of silent tears, the cold yellow eclipsed by a bleak reality no one could accept.

The reality that Jenny Humphrey was dead.

…

Another wave of pain shot through his leg as he attempted a standing position. Gritting his teeth, Chuck moved towards his suitcase-and pain medication, the previous conversation running through his mind at breakneck pace.

He had always kept a strange bond with Eric-a brotherly bond that almost surpassed the friendship between him and Nate.

And Chuck had had too much experience in losing family members-his mother, his father, his uncle, and then a woman who claimed to be his mother. And when he was lying on a hospital bed in a decrepit hospital in Prague, he realized that he didn't want to lose them anymore. They were his family-Blair, Eric, Nate, Lily, and even Serena-and he didn't want to lose them.

Though he curious looks and the incessant inquiries would have to be answered soon. That much he knew. He just hoped that something acceptable would have entered his mind by then. He was Chuck Bass after all.

But as he sat down heavily on his bed, his medication clutched in one hand as he his breathing returned to normal, he wondered.

He wondered if he really was Chuck Bass anymore.

…

"The doctors have given us instructions," Rufus addressed the group in front of the room. "We can say our goodbyes, and then they'll-"

He broke off as a sob escaped his throat, and he collapsed once more into the chair, Lily patting his back comfortingly as tears streaked down her own face.

"We can go inside in a minute," she continued for her husband. "We'll be able to say our goodbyes, and then we'll leave Dan and Rufus alone when the doctors stop-stop the machines."

Serena nodded as her stomach knotted, her hands clenching as the emotions threatened to overwhelm her. Dan was nowhere to be found, having taken off an hour prior. He had promised to be back later in the night, but where he had gone would be anyone's guess.

She supposed that it was better this way, without Dan. For Chuck was here, had come in with his cane and Eric, the younger apparently needing the extra support. Serena couldn't blame him, knowing that she had asked Blair to come for the same reason. Blair, however, was nowhere to be found, though Serena had texted her half an hour prior.

In a chair across from Chuck and Eric, three seats down from her, sat Nate, his face ashen and his hands shaking. Having not seen him for three weeks, Serena couldn't help but study his face with curiosity. The boy she had known since childhood seemed to have disappeared replaced with stubble and slight lines around his eyes, puffy from lack of sleep.

As Serena leaned back, closing her eyes and tipping her head towards the ceiling, the quiet click of heels against the linoleum floor could be heard.

Three pairs of eyes, (Serena, Nate, and _Chuck_), turned to watch as Blair Waldorf approached the group slowly, dressed impeccably in a grey skirt and cobalt flats, the white trim on her navy trench coat nearly glowing in the dull hospital light. Of all of them, Blair seemed the least affected, the most put together. Her appearance was flawless, every strand of hair perfectly in place, and her face clean of tears.

But Serena knew better. She knew that perfection was Blair's way of falling apart, her way of dealing with the unknown.

It scared her to think about what might have transpired before Blair had appeared before them, and Serena simply pushed all thoughts out of her head as she hugged her best friend tightly.

"Thank you for coming, B." she whispered into Blair's hair. There was an almost medicinally minty aroma around her, as if she had used an entire tube of toothpaste in an effort to rid herself of a particularly horrid taste. And Serena knew what that taste could be.

But before she could make her suspicions known, Blair had moved towards, Nate, hugging him nearly as tightly as she had with Serena. Nate reciprocated, if hesitantly, his eyes watching Chuck warily over Blair's shoulder.

When Blair released him with a quiet smile, she moved towards Lily, hugging her as well.

"My condolences," Serena heard her whisper. "Lily, I hope you know how sorry I am that this tragedy has occurred."

Her words seemed practiced, as if rehearsed from a perfectly lined script. Lily did not seem to mind as she pulled Blair in for another hug, thanking her for her words. Rufus, however, did not move from this position, his face still buried in his hands.

On the other side of Rufus, Blair hugged Eric quickly, patting him on his head almost affectionately and offering the same words of condolence. She let her gaze meet Chuck's for a mere second, before turning back to Serena.

"Well," Nate cut in, looking from Blair to Chuck in a decidedly confused manner. "I think we should go in now."

Serena nodded, making her way towards the door and holding her hand out towards Blair. The brunette shook her head, almost adamantly, and sat down instead.

"I think it's best if I stay out here."

Serena opened her mouth to argue, but Nate held her back with a warning look, merely motioning her towards the door once more.

One by one, they filed into the room. First Serena, then Nate, Rufus and Lily following close behind.

Eric stood up as he watched the pair in front of him, partly in fascination at how their mere presence to each other would increase the tension in the room. He turned towards the door, looking at Chuck expectantly.

"Will you be coming in?"

"No," Chuck replied softly, his eyes still trained on Blair.

Eric nodded as he stepped inside the room. He had already known the answer.

The emotion inside the room was palpable, the tension thick and heady with grief. Rufus stood by Jenny's bedside, her hand in his. "You are my little girl," Rufus was saying. "You'll never be anything but."

He choked on the last words as his sobs overcame him, reducing him to a quivering shape hunched on a chair. Lily spoke up next, her hand still on Rufus' shoulder.

"You were never my daughter by blood-but I'll always consider you as one."

Nate opened his mouth to speak, but the words came out strangled, almost incomprehensible. Nate had never known how to articulate his feelings properly-and it seemed that today was no exception. "And I guess, when it all comes down to it…we'll miss you." He finished uneasily, watching Serena out of the corner of his eye.

Eric stepped over to his sister, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder as she continued to stare ahead, tears beginning to pool in her eyes.

"We've had our differences," she began. "But you'll always be my sister."

Her voice cracked slightly on the word _sister_, and Eric knew that she had not always regarded Jenny as so. As the rest of the room turned to him, he cleared his throat uncertainly, still unsure as to what to say.

"Jenny," he said quietly. "You were my first true friend. You were always there for me-and I could never have told the truth if it weren't for you. I'll miss you, down to the eyeliner and too-long hair. Because you've never listened to what other people say-you were too ambitious for that. And I'll always miss that the most. You gave me courage when no one else could."

A strangled noise escaped Lily's throat, and Eric knew what his mother was thinking. Jenny had been there for Eric when no one else was-she had given him courage through her ambition; a will to live.

"I guess we'll just wait for Dan," Lily said quietly.

…

Outside the room, the two were locked in their own world, Chuck's eyes searching as Blair attempted nonchalance.

"Why are you here?" his voice was strained, as if he were holding back the words that he wanted to say.

"Serena," she replied monotonously. "Why are _you_ here?"

"Eric," he replied, the volume of his voice matching hers.

"Last I heard Eric wasn't your biggest fan." Blair sniffed, still refusing to meet his gaze.

"He's had a change of perspective," Chuck returned easily.

"Would that have anything to do with your newest accessory?" Blair shot back, glaring distastefully at his cane.

When his only reply was a shrug, Blair's glare only hardened.

It continued like that for some time, the tension only increasing in the air as his fingers twitched, desperately wanting to tangle themselves in her silken locks.

"Blair I-" he searched for the words that would fix them. That would fix this situation.

_Three words eight letters. Say it, and I'm yours._

"Blair, I lov-"

But he never got to finish his sentence, because it was at that very moment Dan Humphrey walked down the hallway, muttering belligerently as he shrugged off his coat.

He approached them as if unaware of their presence, but when he felt their eyes on him, he looked up with a glare to match even Blair Waldorf's.

"What are _you_ doing here?" he sneered, and Chuck's first instinct was to retort, but he realized that Dan wasn't speaking to him-but to Blair.

"Serena," Blair replied evenly, though her shaking eyes betrayed her calm facade. "Serena asked me to come."

"Well I didn't," Dan said, venom in his words. "_She_ wouldn't want you here."

Chuck watched as Blair grappled for control, grasped for words that couldn't placate Dan.

"Dan," he said warningly, and Dan turned the full force of his glare on Chuck.

"And _you_," he mocked. "Come to say goodbye to the latest notch on your bedpost? Or is she not the latest one? Probably not the last virgin you took advantage of either."

As he neared, Chuck could smell the distinct stench of alcohol, and he stood up slowly, his hands in his pockets.

"I didn't take advantage of her," Chuck told him quietly, his eyes flickering to Blair. She was sitting rigidly in her chair, her eyes welling up with tears but trained on her shoes-not on him.

"Like hell you didn't!" Dan growled. "What, Blair decided she didn't love you anymore and you had to go fuck the first girl to cross your path?"

"It wasn't-"

But Dan merely lunged for him once more, the scent of alcohol more prominent as Chuck easily dodged the blow.

"You already tried this yesterday," Chuck reminded the other boy, who was breathing heavily as he stared Chuck down. "You weren't successful even then. Just came out of nowhere, swinging punches at a cripple-"

"Stop," came her voice, distant and slightly lost, clinging to something he couldn't quite place.

"Dan," she said evenly, her face betraying no emotion. "Your family is waiting inside for you."

Dan turned to her in disgust, the detestation on his face clear as day.

"This is your fault," he spat. "Don't forget that, Blair; this would never have happened if it weren't for you."

Chuck had begun stalking towards Dan at those words, but he simply walked into the room without another backwards glance, his steps disjointed.

"Blair," Chuck started, moving towards her immobile form. The expression of fear seemed permanently etched onto her features, the guilt in her eyes eating away at his heart. "Dan's a prick. Don't listen to him, he's not-"

"Right?" Blair finished. Her voice was tiny, almost choked with guilt and laced with self-loathing. "Of course he's right. I killed Jenny Humphrey, didn't I?"

"You didn't do anything," he stressed, but she had already begun gathering her things.

"Tell Serena I'm sorry," she said in parting, turning to leave.

"Blair!" he called after her. He meant to run after her, to collect her in his arms and attempt to put the pieces back together. He meant to reassure her once more that it wasn't her fault, and that he was _there_ for _her_, not Eric. Because if Dan's actions the previous day had meant anything, he had placed the blame on everyone but chance itself.

He meant to do all these things, but he stayed rooted to the spot, his cane useless on a chair behind him. It was not the shooting pain in his leg that kept him rooted to the spot, but the emotion clawing at his heart as he watched her form disappear. He watched her disappear until all that was left was the lingering scent of her perfume and the memory of her tears.

…

"What happened?" Eric closed the door behind him softly, the door Dan had disappeared through not moments before. "We heard a commotion and then-"

"Blair left," Chuck managed, his teeth gritted as pain shot through his leg. The pain had gotten worse as of late, and dodging wayward punches had not helped in the least.

"Which way did she go?"

"No," he ground out.

But Eric was already walking away.

…

"Dan-"

"What's-"

"We heard-"

The cacophony of words that greeted him when Eric had left were just that-words. They mattered little, though Dan had always believed words his greatest weapon. Once upon a time, Dan had sought comfort in the sanctuary of a clean sheet of paper and black ink. The ink flowed over the paper easily, weaving a story through the fibers and bringing life to the austere sheet.

But now, as his sister lay broken in a white hospital bed, Dan wanted nothing more than to cover the white walls in words. Words of comfort and despair, of pain and gut-wrenching loss.

But Dan had not written a single word since he had received the call.

The tears were relentless as he held up a hand, halting their words. Their meaningless, simple words.

Words didn't matter.

"Do you want to say anything?" Lily asked quietly, spotting the doctors hovering outside the room.

Shaking his head, he took his sister's hand in his.

Words couldn't save Jenny now.

…

"Blair!"

She turned at the sound of her name, spotting a head of dirty-blond hair as she stood, pulling the thin material of her sweater closer around her frail shoulders.

"Blair!" Eric called again, rushing towards her.

"I can't stay," Blair told him, barely regaining her composure.

"You need to know something."

"Eric, I can't sit out there while she's _dying_ in there because of me and my-"

"Dan's grieving. He doesn't mean-"

"I shouldn't feel this way!" came the burst of frustration, the outburst he had not expected from Blair Waldorf. "I'm supposed to hate her. I'm supposed to _want_ her dead. I would have done it myself, weeks ago. But now that she's actually dead, I can't-I don't want-"

"It wasn't your fault," Eric placated, feeling his own stomach clench as Blair attempted to wipe away her tears. "Blair, I need to tell you something."

Her tears had rendered her powerless, and Eric could only lead her gently to a bench.

"There's something you need to know about Chuck."

…

"Nate," Serena urged. "You have to eat something." She shoved the muffins towards him once more, having ignored his previous attempts to push her-and her muffins-away. Lily and Rufus had simply waved her off, and Serena knew better than to push her mother in this state. They had been with Jenny for another hour, an hour past the scheduled time. The doctors were growing impatient, though they allowed them the extra time-the promise of a Van der Woodsen donation had been too desirable to pass up.

She was working on Nate now, her mother-hen instinct kicking in and goading him into eating _something_.

Nate regarded her with tired eyes, and what had transpired between them almost a month ago seemed downright ridiculous.

She smiled slightly as Nate conceded, accepting a blueberry muffin from the proffered plate.

"Thanks," he said hoarsely.

"You're welcome," she whispered.

They sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity, each wanting to say something, but not wanting to be the first to talk.

"Nate," she began tentatively. "About us,"

"There is no us," he told her firmly, his voice hard. "You made sure of that."

"And you betrayed me," she retorted in surprise, slightly shocked by his sudden change in demeanor.

"Look, Serena. I don't want to argue about this. This isn't the place. We can-"

But he was left with a barely eaten blueberry muffin and a cold coffee as she left him alone, moving towards the direction of the bathroom.

…

Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail-an unusual hairstyle for Blair Waldorf, but completely practical in this situation.

She stood completely naked in front of her full-length mirror, studying her body closely. The preciseness of the act calmed her, helped her forget the chilling words that Eric had left her with.

_Prague…ring…muggers…shot-_

Shaking her head, she zeroed in on her shoulders, which were all right, she supposed, not too wide and slightly rounded, sloping into the delicate curve of her back. The curve of her lower back wasn't steep enough; shallow because of the extra weight she had amassed. Weight that now covered her hipbones, nearly obscuring them from view.

Her now almost-non-existent hipbones flowed into thighs that were just slightly too big, knees that were too knobby, and ankles that swelled before leading towards disproportionately small feet.

Having finished her scrutiny, Blair leaned closer to the mirror, inspecting her skin with a well-practiced eye.

There was a smattering of freckles across her nose, marring her once porcelain skin though they were barely visible.

There was the slightest of red bumps forming on her left cheekbone, and she noticed that her face seemed fuller, more round and completely bloated.

She frowned at the image in the mirror, willed herself to return towards a safer train of thought.

_You are beautiful_. She told herself calmly, but the words were stale in her mouth.

"…_rode hard and put away wet…"_

"…_do you really need another éclair?..."_

"…_most beautiful woman I'd ever…"_

"…_why can't you be more like Serena?..."_

"…_went up there on your own..."_

The jumbled thoughts, the flashing of painful memories, and the subconscious thought that she was never good _enough_ all became too much to bear as she made her way into the bathroom.

Tears spilled over as she kneeled in front of the toilet, and she crouched over, arms shaking and legs quivering.

She made herself sick twice, until there was nothing left for her to vomit, the taste of bile bitter on her tongue.

As if in a trance, she stood up shakily, flushed the toilet, washed her hands, and made her way downstairs, only stumbling once.

She returned to her bedroom moments later, a half-full bottle of vodka in her hands. Her fingers had brushed past a bottle of vintage scotch, and her heart had tugged in protest.

And now, as she sat in the center of her bed, images and memories assaulted her, overwhelming her with _Chuck_.

The old-r_ed tights, yellow striped shirt_-and the more recent-_bruised lips, mussed hair_-blending together in a flurry of kisses and caresses that seemed eternal in her memory.

She winced as she took the first gulp, the alcohol burning down her throat, erasing her sins and cleansing her mind.

…

Dan and Rufus had stayed in the hospital room long after the doctors left, Lily joining them briefly, but not before urging the rest to go home.

Eric had stood on shaky legs and pulled his sister to her feet, managed to get them both into the car headed for the Van der Woodsen apartment without a word other than, "Home." He had nodded at Chuck's inquiring gaze, and Chuck knew that Eric had done what he had not been brave enough to do.

Serena's muffins had been abandoned on a side table, nearly untouched in their entirety.

Nate had stood helplessly by through this, and Chuck thought he saw a quiet tear in his best friend's eyes, but it was quickly brushed away.

He himself had not known what to feel, and had simply begun to stop _feeling_, to relish the emptiness in his mind and the dull ache in his chest.

And so, he found himself walking towards his suite at the Empire with deliberate slowness, his leg still painful, but hardly so. It was as if he wanted to prolong his suffering, as if he were doing penance for his actions.

But when he entered his suite with an aching sigh, the images of _that night_ still assaulting him, he knew something was different.

Perhaps it was the hushed scent of Serge Lutens Gris Clair that barely lingered, though he believed that a figment of his imagination.

However, when he spotted a figure on his bed-a petite figure with mahogany curls, and wide, willing eyes-he knew that his imagination had not been at work this time.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, not harshly, but with a gentle reverence.

"I don't want to fight you anymore," she told him softly. "I don't want to fight _us._"

"Blair," he breathed, the relief and love creeping into his voice as he made his way over to the bed. He caught the scent of alcohol mixed with her perfume, and he frowned slightly."I love-"

"We're not good together," she told him almost tearfully, and his moments stilled. "But I can't deny that I _need_ you. And I can't deny that I still love you, despite all that has happened."

He gathered her into his arms then, whispering into her hair "We'll fix this."

She shook her head almost adamantly, and her curls brushed across his hands, the feeling of the softest silk brushing against his fingertips.

"You can't fix everything, Chuck."

The scent of alcohol overpowered him now, and he leaned back to look at her. "Blair, have you been drinking?"

She nodded slightly, "I'm here, aren't I?"

She wasn't so far drunk that she was slurring her words or wobbling on her feet-but Blair Waldorf had never actually been a messy drunk. And Chuck had to wonder at the amount of alcohol that propelled her to come to his suite.

"Then where does this leave us?" he choked out. "I love you, but-"

"I don't know," she murmured. "I just know that I don't know what I would have done if that bullet had gone through your chest instead of your leg. If you had bled to death in that dirty alleyway thinking I didn't love you anymore."

"I truly believed you didn't love me anymore," he told her, his voice breaking. "I didn't care if I lived or died."

"But you _have_ to care," she nearly begged. "Because even when you're out of my life temporarily, I can't bear it. And if you were out of my life permanently-"

"I don't know what I'd do either," he informed her. "I don't know what to do with myself without you."

"This is why we're not good for each other," she told him, tears shining in her eyes. "We're too dependent on each other, too reliant on the other's presence. But…" she trailed off, as if lost in thought.

"But?" he prompted. "I don't want to lose you," he added, as if begging her to finish. But Chuck Bass didn't beg.

"But we'll never be good for each other."

"I can be good for you," he promised her. "I'll change. I'll do whatever it takes."

She shook her head once more, "I don't want you to change. Ever."

A beat of silence passed once more, and he fought the desire to draw her closer.

"Where does that leave us?" he asked once more.

"I don't know," she repeated. "Tonight. We have tonight."

_So shut up and dance with me._

"Will you stay with me tonight?" she asked quietly, already making her way back towards his bed.

"Okay," he replied deferentially, because he knew he was powerless against her requests.

And so she unzipped her skirt and peeled off her shirt, and he handed her one of his shirts as he had customarily done so many weeks ago. She climbed into bed-the right side, _her_ side-and he pulled a pair of silk pajama pants carelessly from its drawer, quickly pulling them on and slipping into bed beside her.

She turned to him, the moonlight illuminating her glazed, desolate eyes as lifted his arm around her.

She tucked her head beneath his chin, his heartbeat against her cheek as their legs tangled together familiarly.

"Blair-"

"Goodnight," she whispered, and he _felt_ rather than _heard_ her quiet voice, the sweet scent of her skin curling around his nostrils.

"Goodnight," he sighed into her hair.

Somewhere, in another room of the suite, a clock ticked, filling the empty spaces with its hollow noise. He listened to the sound of the ticking as her eyes fluttered closed against his chest.

He knew she was fast asleep by the sound of her rhythmic breathing, her quiet breaths lulling him into his own slumber. He fought against his drooping eyes, struggled to stay awake and savor the moment.

Because he knew come morning she would be gone, leaving with more than she had entered with.

* * *

tbc


	5. Chapter 4

**AN: Thanks go out to bethaboo, who is the B to my S and a kickass beta. If you follow me on twitter, you'll know that I'll be taking a small break from Atonement. Say, one or two weeks? I promise I won't leave this story alone, and once I start up again I'll post more often. I just need to get my muse back for the story. In the meantime, I will be updating Recollection religiously. Also, as with Recollection I'll be sending out teasers for the next chapter to all my lovely reviewers. I adore you all.

* * *

**

The scent of Serge Lutens Gris Clair hung in the room when he awoke. And there was a moment between sleep and wakefulness in which his all too hopeful subconscious convinced him she was still there. A moment where he hoped to open his eyes and see her in his arms once more. He wondered if this was what it had felt like, when Blair had woken up that morning and he had been halfway to Shanghai. He wondered if it had been as hard for her to leave him as it had been for him to leave her that night. The thoughts swirling in his mind, Chuck opened his eyes slowly, squinting against the early morning sunlight. The shafts of morning light that bathed the room in a warm gold did nothing to alleviate the chill that had seeped into his skin.

Her side of the bed was still warm.

…

"Here," Serena set a cup of coffee in front of Dan, knowing that the black liquid would do nothing to tempt him.

"Thanks," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

They sat in silence for a little while, Serena picking at the lacy trim of her dress, watching Dan anxiously.

Contrary to his rather docile nature, Dan had been picking fights and throwing punches more often than usual (that is, he's punched someone other than Chuck). Serena knew that confronting him would be counter-effective; his sister had just died, and though Serena had always thought Dan's way of coping would include coffee, tears, and dozens of leather bound notebooks, it appeared she was wrong.

Dan's current way of coping eerily mirrored, well, _Chuck's_. His hair was mussed, his eyes glazed over, and his breath reeked slightly of alcohol. If Serena squinted hard enough, she could almost imagine that it was Bart's funeral all over again, and Dan and Chuck had switched roles.

Serena had been so absorbed in comparing the two that she forgot one difference-Dan was rambling. His eyes far-off and mouth slackened, he began to recount the ways this could have happened differently.

"-and if she had taken a different train. Or if I hadn't asked her to stay for the weekend. Or maybe if she had sat in a different seat. It's their fault, really. She shouldn't have been seated by the window. But when it all comes down to it, it's _their_ fault."

The 'their' in this context was easily identified and didn't come as a surprise to Serena. Despite her and Nate's arguments, Dan remained a firm believer that Blair and Chuck had been at fault. And Serena knew that both Blair and Chuck faulted themselves as well, though Blair had tried to shelve the guilt and pretend it wasn't there and Chuck simply didn't acknowledge it.

"Dan," she said gently. "Blair didn't cause that train to crash. Neither did Chuck."

"She wouldn't be on the fucking train if it weren't for _them_," he all but growled.

Serena shook her head, repeating Rufus' words. He had been oddly calm throughout the whole ordeal, as if walking through the situation in a dreamlike state. "It wasn't their decision to put Jenny on the train. Rufus sent her to Hudson because-"

"So you're blaming my dad now?" Dan sneered, and Serena recoiled at the sound of his voice. Never before, even when he had assaulted Chuck, had Dan been this way.

"No, I didn't mean- what I'm trying to say, is…it's no one's fault. It was an accident."

Dan sighed, and Serena knew the bomb had been diffused for now-but he still didn't believe her words.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I didn't mean to lash out at you. It's not your fault."

Serena sighed in relief, knowing that the old Dan was back once more, if only for a brief moment.

"It's alright," she said brightly, covering his hand with hers.

She watched as Dan's eyes traveled down to their hands, his palm turning upwards and grasping hers. Serena flinched slightly, knowing his intentions yet unwilling to rebuff them.

But when Dan leaned forward, his lips brushing against hers gently, Serena's eyes widened, and she propelled herself backwards.

"Dan, I can't-we shouldn't-"

He looked at her almost apologetically, "Serena-"

" I'm sorry," she said quietly. "You and I…it can't happen."

"It's because our parents are married now, isn't it? I thought you never cared what-"

"No," Serena said, shaking her head. "Dan, you and I…that happened a long time ago."

"You still love him, don't you?" Dan asked, his voice unapologetic and brash-though Serena had a moment where she was glad the conversation had turned from Jenny's death. The only problem was, it had turned towards their relationship.

"I don't know," she admitted. "Dan, you were my first real love-but I think you and I are over. You have Georgina, and the baby on the way. We were never really meant to be. Just passing phases meant to show us who we truly are."

Dan raised his eyebrows, and Serena smiled slightly at the Dan-ness of the gesture.

"That's deep, Serena van der Woodsen," Serena shrugged nonchalantly at his words, then stood up with an apologetic smile.

"Will you be okay?"

And his world seemed to come crashing back down, the distractions gone and reality very much present.

"I'll be fine," he answered stoically, avoiding Serena's eyes as she left the apartment.

He watched from the window as she hailed a cab, her blonde hair streaming behind her as she stepped inside.

Dan refused to let his mind wander to the brunette currently staying in the Humphrey loft-the reason he was hiding out in the van der Woodsen's penthouse.

….

"Dorota," he acknowledged the maid, who was carrying a silver tray laden with croissants, yogurt, and strawberries. Chuck immediately knew what was going on-knew the only reason Dorota prepared such lavish meals was to tempt her Miss Blair into eating. It was with a heavy heart that he also recognized the steely look in Dorota's eyes, the one that told him he was unwelcome.

"Mr. Chuck," she returned stiffly. "Miss Blair is not receiving visitors at the moment."

Dorota had always been a avid supporter of Chuck & Blair, a fact he enjoyed taunting Blair about. But now, as Dorota glared at him in her own way, he knew that he had finally gone too far. No doubt Dorota, a subscriber of Gossip Girl herself, knew what had transpired. And he knew that she believed his betrayal had pushed Blair until she'd arrived at her current situation

"I'll wait," he told her stubbornly, meeting her glare with one of his own. "Tell Miss Blair I won't leave until I see her."

He took a seat on one of the velvet chaises, ignoring the muttered polish words that Dorota uttered as she stomped up the marble staircase.

He could hear the creak of the door as Dorota entered Blair's room, heard the coercion and the pleas. His stomach clenched as he heard Blair's adamant refusal, winced as he heard Dorota's resulting sigh and her descent back down the staircase.

"This is your fault," she told him, her accent making the words more punctuated as she glared him down. "You hurt Miss Blair."

"Dorota, I-"

But she turned without another word, and he could hear heavy footsteps as she walked in the direction of the kitchen. Tilting his head slightly, he waited until he heard the clang of pots against a sink, and he sprang to his feet, wincing slightly at the pain in his leg.

Making his way up the stairs as quietly as possible, having forgone his cane that morning, he listened closely for any sign of Dorota's return. Instead, he could only hear the faint sound of running water-a sound that only made his stomach clench further.

Her door was slightly ajar, and he pushed it open quietly, noting that her bed was empty, the tray balanced precariously on the night table.

It was untouched.

Her bathroom door, however, was locked, the light spilling out from the crack at the bottom. If he listened closely, he could hear retching over the sound of running water, a sound that he was all too familiar with.

"Blair?" he called into the empty room.

"_Blair?"_

"_No!" she nearly shrieked, and he could hear her scramble as he turned the doorknob._

_She was standing in front of the toilet, a guilty expression on her face._

"_Are you ok?" he asked, unsure as to what was going on. Blair had made a rather hasty departure after the dessert course was served, a departure that had gone unnoticed by both her boyfriend and best friend._

"_I'm fine," came her voice, and suddenly the door was open, and she was standing in front of him with a bright, disarming smile on her face._

"_You're not fine, Waldorf. Why did you leave?"_

"_Something in the salad course didn't agree with me," she replied brightly. "I'll be fine, go back to the dinner."_

"_But-"_

"_Seriously, Chuck." Her voice was snide now. "I'll be fine, go back."_

_He frowned as the door closed in his face, and instead of following her orders; he sat on her bed in adamant refusal._

_When he heard the retching on the other side of the door, he knew what was going on. The running water continued on._

The water stopped almost immediately, and he could almost picture her look of distaste on the other side of the door. He heard the quiet shuffle of footsteps and suddenly the door was open, and she was standing in front of him in a silk robe.

"I told Dorota not to let anyone in, least of all you." She sneered, but he was undeterred by the venom in her voice, concentrating instead on how very tiny she looked in front of him.

"What were you doing?" he asked, a note of accusation creeping into his voice.

She brushed past him, making her way to her closet on shaky knees.

"None of your business," she told him.

"_This isn't any of your business. I told you to go back."_

"_I heard you," Chuck said instead. "I heard you inside."_

"_This doesn't concern you," Blair bit out. "Go away Chuck."_

"This doesn't concern you."

"It does when you're wasting away to nothing," he told her angrily. "I thought you were stronger than this."

"This doesn't concern you," she repeated. "What I do now doesn't concern you anymore, no matter what your increasingly inflated ego tells you otherwise."

"Blair." He stressed. "I'm not going to stand by and watch you self-destruct again."

"I'm not asking you to," she retorted. "I'm asking you to leave. I told you to stay away from me, remember?"

"_I'm asking you to leave," she pressed again, hating the adamant expression on his face._

"_You forget who you're talking to." _

"_I don't." Blair said exasperatedly. "Why did you even follow me here Bass?"_

"_I was wondering where Nathaniel's perfect girlfriend had run off to in the middle of a society dinner. I was hoping I'd find you back here with your secret cater-waiter boyfriend."_

"_Sleeping with the help?" she wrinkled her nose. "That's your forte Bass, not mine."_

"_Ah," he said. "But they can be so very…helpful."_

_Shuddering delicately, Blair stood up and made her way over to her mirror._

"_You can leave now."_

_He opened his mouth to protest, but she only shoots him down with a glare._

"_You're perfect," he said quietly, making his way past her towards the door. It was only when he was almost out of earshot did she reply._

"_You didn't mean that."_

"You didn't mean that," he countered. "You certainly didn't have the same frame of mind last night. And you and I both know you didn't mean what you said outside of the hospital. It will never be that way with us, we're too-"

"Inevitable, I've heard this before," she said with a wave of her hand. "Only you hadn't slept with _Jenny Humphrey_."

She clearly meant to say the girl's name with venom, but it came out as a half-sob, another reminder of the role she had played in the girl's death.

"I'll fix this," he promised her again. "Whatever it takes, I'll fix this."

"Not this time," Blair told him quietly. "I told you last night, you can't fix this."

"But I lov-"

"Don't say it," she warned him. "Just don't. They're just words, they don't mean anything."

"Three words, eight letters," he reminded her. "Do you know how hard we worked for them? They aren't just words anymore. Not to us. Last night, when you said them to me, they meant _something_."

"Last night was a mistake," Blair told him. "Now leave."

He opened his mouth to argue once more, but her quelling glare told him the conversation was over. The ringing of his phone distracted him for a moment, and he very nearly declined the call, though the name stopped him.

_Lily van der Woodsen_.

"I'll be back later tonight," he assured her. "I'm going to fix this Blair."

She merely turned her back on him as she resumed her trek to the closet, her head held high.

It was only when she heard the faint ding of the elevator, did she crumple to the ground once more.

She hadn't done _it_, though she knew what the situation had looked like to an outsider, especially to him. She had gripped the edges of the porcelain bowl tightly, her eyes closed as she willed herself to be strong once more.

She had been on the brink of falling into the cycle once more, had already begun dry heaving into the bowl when she'd heard the knock.

Blair didn't want him to save her again-couldn't allow him to play the role of savior when he had been the one to break her in the first place.

…

The van der Woodsens' penthouse was quiet, an air of misery lingering around the plush couches and marble tabletops. There palpable sadness consuming the air around him, Chuck Bass stepped out of the elevator with an apprehensive sigh.

"Charles," Lily said in relief. "I'm so glad you're here."

"Where's Serena?" Chuck asked dubiously. As Eric's flesh and blood sister, this was _her_ responsibility as well.

"With Dan. I haven't called her yet." Lily faltered for a moment, then offered a weary smile. "I thought you were my best bet."

At Chuck's dubious expression, Lily continued. "You're his brother," she told him simply. "Whether by blood or by marriage, it doesn't matter. And as much as I love Serena, she wouldn't know what to do in this situation."

His stomach clenched at the word _brother_. He had always regarded Eric as one, ever since the wedding, but Lily had never openly told him so.

"You're family," Lily reminded him softly.

The word caught in his mind and stilled his thoughts, if only for a moment. But in that moment, he understood. He understood family. And he understood what it meant to never give up on them.

At the look on his face, Lily nodded towards the hallway. "He's in his bedroom. He's locked the door, but I don't think he's-well, there are no sharp objects in his room. I had Elliot remove them all this morning. And I haven't heard any running water."

Chuck nodded; making his way towards the direction of Eric's room.

It seemed he was assuming the role of savior today.

…

Blair sat on the edge of her bed as she resisted the urge to look in the mirror, knowing that once she did her resolve would crumble to dust.

Instead, she focused on re-writing the scene that had played out hours before.

She hadn't known the words were flying out of her mouth until they simply _were_. It wasn't that Blair didn't want to be with him-it was simply that she couldn't trust him with her heart once more.

The only problem with that was, he already had her heart, whether he realized it or not.

She just _couldn't_ forgive him yet. Not yet. Not while the memories of that night were still fresh in her mind, still plaguing her dreams and assaulting her every thought. Not while Jenny Humphrey's funeral had been planned for the following Sunday.

The problem with forgiving Chuck was the fact that she knew she would eventually. And she rebelled against that instinctively; rebelled against the fact that they were inevitable.

Her reasoning behind going to his suite the past night was that she was drunk. But less than a third of a bottle of vodka wasn't enough to render Blair Waldorf drunk. It did make her slightly intoxicated, but not so drunk that she couldn't be held responsible for her actions.

It was a trigger, that had propelled her to visit him. She had spotted something winking at her from the jewellery box on her vanity. Maybe it was the alcohol that had propelled her to investigate.

She wished that she had just left well enough alone and dismissed the glinting entirely. It had come from a necklace, _the_ necklace, to be exact. The Erickson Beamon he had given to her so many years ago, that moment on Kati's brother's bed almost a lifetime ago. They had been so young then, so foolish to believe that butterflies existed.

When in truth, butterflies didn't exist. Only the all-consuming, terrifying love between them that altered its shape to fit the current situation existed between them.

The necklace in her hands, the diamonds cutting into her flesh, Blair stumbled back to her bed, the tears already pouring down her face.

She could tell Serena she was over him, could exclaim that she had never loved him, and she could deny what they had.

But it was useless, futile, and utterly hopeless to do so. Blair Waldorf didn't _do_ mediocre or halfway measures. And what she and Chuck had was completely out of her realm of possibility. She had believed in white princes and true love before Chuck. Only after she had been enticed by a dark prince that she realized what true love _was_.

True love was standing by someone in their darkest moments. It was forgiving and forgetting because what had occurred in the past was to _stay_ in the past. It was staying and fighting even if running was easier and they were just damn tired.

As she clutched the necklace tighter in her fist, the thoughts swirling around her head mercilessly, Blair realized that she missed him. For all intents and purposes, she missed him.

It was that thought that propelled her to call for a car and make her way to his suite at the Empire; the same suite he'd had to envision her and Jack in, the same suite she'd had to envision him and _Jenny_ in.

There was no other thought in her slightly inebriated mind other than the fact that she needed him.

He had held her gently, almost as if she would break with the slightest of pressure, and Blair had sighed in relief when sleep had finally claimed her without the use of sleeping pills.

Come morning, the dull pounding in the back of her head matched the dull ache in her chest, a moment of clarity assaulting her mind.

She had untangled herself from him-a feat in itself as they had always slept intertwined and impossibly tangled.

And she had left the suite moments later, holding back a sob as she hailed a cab. Blair knew that the night had consequences, knew that Chuck wouldn't just let this go-because Chuck Bass didn't work that way.

She looked up from her feet as she recalled the look on his face-the look of determination that she knew all too well.

It was a look of resolve, and Blair knew better than to fight it. As much as she wanted to forgive him, she _didn't_ want to forgive him. And his resolve to fix them only made things worse. She was a jumble of hopelessly knotted emotions; emotions that she herself could barely figure out.

But there was one knot she had unraveled slightly, one small hurdle that she had overcome.

You see Blair Waldorf had not purged once today, despite Dorota's assumptions and Chuck's theories.

She may have needed Chuck, but that didn't mean she couldn't save herself.

….

"Eric," Chuck said softly. He knew the younger boy was inside the room from the sound of the quiet pacing. "Let me in."

He could almost see Eric shaking his head as he paced, an expression of disbelief on his face.

"There's nothing stopping me form breaking down this door," Chuck warned. "Eric, let me in."

There was an audible sigh of frustration now, and Chuck smiled slightly as the footsteps neared the door.

"The only thing stopping you from breaking this door is the fact that you _can't_." Came Eric's slightly playful reply, and Chuck couldn't help the sigh of relief that escaped him.

"You underestimate me greatly, little brother."

And the door swung open, revealing Eric in a completely normal manner, his hair slightly disheveled, but otherwise completely intact.

"Chuck," Eric deadpanned. "We all know the only physical activity you participate in is the kind involving a bed and…well, Blair."

The mention of her name sent his mind spinning once more, but Chuck shook his head slightly and focused in on Eric once more.

"Lily's worried about you." He said flatly.

"She has no reason to be," Eric said dryly, though Chuck could read the pain below his amusing façade. "She had all the sharp objects removed from my room, and I'm pretty sure she would shut the water off if she could."

"There's-"

"I just need space," Eric explained hastily. "Space, Chuck. I'm not going to kill myself."

The last sentence was sardonic, dry. The callousness of it caught at Eric's words, and made them almost foreboding.

"We're all worried about you," he said instead, his words sounding false to his own years.

"I'll be fine," Eric said with a merry wave of his hand. For someone whose stepsister had died the night before, he seemed oddly nonchalant. Chuck knew that Eric didn't do well in expressing his feelings either, preferring to hide behind a mask of funny retorts and witty remarks.

"We're family," Chuck said, repeating Lily's words from before.

"We are," Eric said in surprise. "But we're not the only family you have Chuck. You know what."

He really did.

"I'll be fine," Eric repeated once more. "I just need time. I need to wrap my head around this."

"You'll call?" Chuck asked quietly. "If anything…"

"I'll call," Eric placated.

Chuck nodded, and he turned around with as the door shut behind him once more.

"Well?" Lily asked nervously, sitting at the kitchen counter with an uneaten bagel before her.

"He's going to be fine," Chuck said smoothly. "He just needs time."

"We all do," Lily agreed. "Charles, are you-"

"If you'll excuse me," he said apologetically, still making his way to the elevator. "I have something else to attend to."

Lily waved him on, the look of worry on her face had lessened slightly, and she was now picking at the bagel before her.

Something Eric had said had stayed with Chuck, rang in his head until he couldn't ignore its truth any longer.

_We're not the only family you have._

…

"What are you doing here?" she asked coldly as he stepped from the elevator. There was a heavy plate in her hands, the smallest slice of pie adorning the plate. Her left foot was poised on the first stair-and she looked to be in the midst of a forkful of pie.

"I told you I wouldn't be gone for long," he told her simply. The heavy plate in her hand quivered dangerously, and her shoulders trembled in time with the frantic beating of his heart.

"I didn't want to see you then. I haven't changed my mind." She replied, mimicking his tone. But he's always been the only one who can see past any wall she builds to protect herself. He walked forward slowly, holding her gaze as he stepped up beside her, blocking her way up the stairs.

"That's not what you said last night," he retorted. The moment the words left his lips he regretted them. It hadn't been the right thing to say. No, it had been the _Chuck Bass_ thing to say.

"That was a mistake," she all but growled, attempting to brush past him at the same time he took a step towards her.

Attempting to take a step back, Blair frowned slightly as her vision clouded slightly, the foyer swirling around her in an indistinguishable mess. And it was only when she stumbled and tripped that she realized something.

It was only when she heard Chuck's cry of "Blair!" and her vision tunneled out until she could only see his concerned face, that she realized something.

It was too late to voice her realization before everything went black.

She should've eaten today.

* * *

tbc


	6. Chapter 5

**AN: Apologies for the short break, a slightly longer chapter as a thank-you for all your lovely reviews, alerts, favorites, and patience. Thank you to bethaboo as well, my incredibly amazing beta.

* * *

**

It was something he thought he'd never have to experience.

Blair stumbled backwards, and the plate in her hands flew across the marble tiles, effortlessly breaking into a thousand pieces. The heavy, once incredibly strong ceramic plate lay in pieces at his feet as his hands reached out, only to be a moment too late.

Blair fell backwards, her shoulder striking the marble with a crack, her head falling onto the tiles with a thud.

Limping over as quickly as his leg allowed, Chuck collapsed next to Blair, his mind reeling as he checked her pulse, her breathing, just wanting to _feel_ that she was still there.

Time stopped, if only for a moment, the weak, barely there pulse at his fingertips ringing through his head.

If you had asked Chuck Bass how many times Blair Waldorf's heart had beat in the span of a minute, he would be able to tell you.

Seventy-three.

For sixty seconds, time slowed down, the calm before the impending storm.

…

Nate wasn't sure what to think.

Jenny. Had she ever been more than a little sister to him? Their passing relationship had been short-lived and relatively painless to end.

Once her transformation from naïve, innocent little J into a ruthless version of the young girl he had once loved was complete, Nate hadn't been able to fall for her anymore.

But a few weeks before it had all fallen apart, the Jenny he had known—perhaps loved—had begun to appear once more. Though she had endeavored to demolish his and Serena's relationship, had schemed in a way he only believed Chuck and Blair capable of, Nate had begun to find himself falling for her again.

Nate continued to toy with his phone in front of him, a drafted text on the lighted screen, two charmingly simple words.

His and Serena's relationship was bound to fall apart at the seams, a realization he had come to while sitting in that hospital room.

It hadn't been Jenny's fault, and it wasn't her fault now.

And when he had been wallowing in his own pity, Nate let his mind wander.

He let himself wonder what it would be like if he'd let Jenny back in.

As it was, he'd never know now.

There really was no use dwelling on the past.

He pressed _send_.

….

Everything had happened quickly, leaving him standing there, grappling with the pain in his leg and attempting to process.

Dorota had been the first to burst through the doors, worry written on her face. There had been no harsh words exchanged; only a mere "Call ambulance" that was deadly calm.

Dorota had gathered her young charge in her arms, checking Blair's heartbeat, Blair's breathing, just as Chuck had.

There were loud voices and the rattling sound of a gurney on marble tiles; incomprehensible words and loud orders; flashing lights and wailing sirens.

He only felt Dorota's comforting arm on his, and the gut-wrenching pain that had nothing to do with bullets and missing rings.

…

He had been in this hospital a total of three other times in his life.

Despite the fact that he had needed a doctor on numerous occasions, they had always attended to him in the comfort of his own suite.

Bart had been here, cold on a white bed, his face uncharacteristically soft in his death, as Lily told him there was nothing more they could do.

Serena had been here, and as a result, he'd collapsed in a hospital hallway, elbows on knees, breathing heavily, chest clenched.

The first time, he had run.

The second, he had stayed.

_You carry people. You carry me._

And she had pulled him up, both literally and metaphorically, pulled him to his feet and assured him he was becoming a man in a way his father had never been.

His last visit had been short-lived, a livid Dan Humphrey assaulting him before he had spent even ten minutes in the hospital.

Perhaps it had been Dan's anger that had eclipsed all other emotions, obscuring the tugging in his chest and the clenching in his stomach that now encompassed him.

The acrid smell of bleach tore at his senses and wormed its way into his stomach.

Overwhelmed with the desire to vomit, Chuck clenched his fists against the material of his pants, his breaths coming out in rapid bursts, his brain clamoring for the oxygen it craved.

The room spun, his vision focusing in on a double set of doors. Moments before, she had been rushed through, lying flat and still on a gurney, not unlike Bart, nor Jenny.

But they had been beyond hope. There was nothing else the doctors could do.

Blair still had a shred of hope left.

_Thank you_, he'd breathed into her hair, clutching her to him as they strode down that hallway.

Chuck leaned back, his eyes falling closed as memories of that night assailed his mind.

…

"We know not," Dorota was saying for what seemed like the hundredth time, and Chuck's poisonous thoughts turned to venom as his frustration peaked. His knee bounced incessantly against the linoleum, earning him rather irritated looks. "Doctor's no talk."

His stomach calmed, his head cleared, his unruffled demeanor returning in an instant.

"Give me the phone," he growled, and Dorota glared at him in return, but surrendered the phone.

"Eleanor," he said curtly. "Your daughter just fainted and you might not have a mother before, but she needs you. Whatever's more important _isn't_."

With a few, carefully chosen, final words— "The Bass jet is at your disposal. Harold is on his way as well."—Chuck hung up.

Handing the phone back to Dorota, Chuck stalked over to the nurse's desk, determined to get some information.

"I'm Chuck Bass," he said authoritatively. "What do I have to donate to get some information around here?"

…

"Hi," Serena said tentatively, sitting down beside him. "I got your text."

"How'd you know where to find me?" Nate asked with a small smile playing at the corner of his lips.

Serena shrugged, "I was on my way here anyways."

"Memories?"

Serena nodded, looking at the familiar bar stools and even more familiar boy in front of her.

"We used to sneak off here when we were fourteen," Serena recalled with a smile. "Blair and Chuck were busy…"

"Plotting," Nate filled in, only a twinge of bitterness in his voice.

"Yes," Serena said with a wistful smile, recalling the days when her small hand fit in Nate's, and Blair and Chuck had been nothing more than a pair to be feared.

"Apple martini?" Nate asked playfully, and Serena found herself falling for the twinkle in his blue eyes once more. Shaking her head, Serena motioned towards the bartender. "Gin and tonic, please."

"Trying something new?"

Serena shook her head, "Something old."

…

They had always said black was slimming.

Chuck thought they were full of bullshit.

Because at this moment, hospital white seemed to be the most slimming, framing her protruding collarbones and sharp cheekbones.

Dorota bustled in beside him, fussing over Blair as machines beeped around her. Just as Chuck had always turned to alcohol and women to ease the pain, Dorota had an insatiable need to clean and fuss.

"Miss Blair be okay," Dorota was saying quietly, more to herself than to Chuck. "Miss Blair alright."

"Yes," Chuck agreed quietly, seating himself beside her bed and taking her small, dainty hand in his.

…

"So," Nate said, spinning the coaster in front of him. "How is Dan?"

Serena frowned, toying with the lime wedge on the edge of her glass. "He's been better."

"And Lily? Rufus?"

"Coping," Serena said sadly, recalling Rufus' tired, sad, eyes and her mother's red ones.

"And you?"

"I'll be fine," Serena replied with a small smile. "I'm not the one everyone needs to be worried about."

"Even then—" Nate paused, cleared his throat. "I'm here."

"Thanks, Nate," Serena said, and their awkward conversation came to a standstill at his declaration.

"I don't know," Nate began slowly, as if confused, "what's going on with us. But I do know that I don't think any of us can get through this alone."

Serena smiled then, and her fingers twitched, the space between their palms impossibly close. Nate glanced at her, tentative, and Serena bit her lip, knowing that what she wanted now would never be what she wanted in the future.

Serena Van der Woodsen lived in the present, after all.

And at the present, her phone was ringing, the obnoxiously loud ringtone garnering more than a few annoyed glances from the patrons of the quiet bar.

"It's Chuck."

…

She was in a hospital.

That was her first thought when she had awoken to beeping machinery, the acidic smell of bleach wafting under her nose, the sight of the cold, white room from barely open eyelids. Her second thought, the belated one, was that her hand was  
warm. Almost unbearably so, as it contradicted with the icy chill seeping through her veins.

She had been so fucking _good._ Had amassed enough self-restraint to defy the beckoning of the one haven she had become too dependent on.

Then again, it was easy to keep your food down when there wasn't any food consumed to begin with.

Perhaps she wasn't so strong after all.

The Blair Waldorf everyone knew—everyone feared—was simply a front that veiled the turmoil inside. Little by little, that front had hardened over the years, until it became almost impenetrable. _Almost_.

Chuck Bass had been the first to pass through, the first to truly understand what it meant to be Blair Waldorf.

Being Blair Waldorf didn't mean silk scarves and exclusive Parisian shoes; no, being Blair Waldorf meant being strong enough to conceal your emotions, but weak enough to succumb to them.

And Chuck Bass had been able to find this hidden side of her, this twisted creature she dared not show to anyone.

Because only a masochist could ever love such a narcissist.

The self-inflicted damage had scarred her beyond any hurt Serena, Nate, or even _Chuck_ had exacted upon her. Because this, this was beyond her control, beyond her understanding and beyond her jurisdiction.

She could organize and plan, map out her future to the tiniest detail. But she couldn't write in the ending to her struggle with—oh what an ugly word it was—_bulimia._

Was that it, then?

This cycle would continue on, no matter her efforts to break it. Was it that, then? She would eventually yield to the rigors she put her body through and meet the same end Jenny Humphrey had?

The reminder of the blonde had her spinning, away from the warm hand and the frigid room. Spinning into the depths of guilt that she had crafted from flimsy accusations and the image of a matted head of blonde hair and a scarred, battered face.

She was in a hospital.

The hospital where Jenny Humphrey had taken her last breath.

…

Dan had never been one for alcohol. There had been a few drinks here and there. There had been one night spent in the company of Chuck Bass that left him sans shoes and high as a kite.

But now, he understood Chuck's penchant for scotch. He could understand Chuck's incessant need to drown himself in alcohol and misery.

He wanted to corral the blame that he had thrown about with careless ease, but he couldn't help himself.

He couldn't help that he had lost his only sister, and his last words hadn't been the kindest.

"_I don't know who you are anymore, but hopefully you'll find Jenny Humphrey in Hudson."_

He couldn't help but blame Blair for exiling Jenny from New York, and he couldn't help but blame Chuck for being the catalyst that sent the Upper East Side spinning on its head.

The thing was, even underneath all the blame, a shred of good was left. And that part of him knew that they weren't to blame.

Not really.

….

The moment she was awake, he knew.

"Blair— " he said, his voice conveying a thousand emotions he couldn't quite place.

Because this was Blair Waldorf, and she was currently lying in a hospital bed, white sheets pulled up to her chest, clad in a polka-dotted hospital gown, and looking tinier than he had ever seen her.

But her refusal to meet his eyes, the way her hand stayed limp in his, only intensified the slight ache in his chest.

Chuck couldn't place that either.

It was worse than a gunshot, because a bullet was quick to tear through your flesh, sharp and biting, rendering you unconscious.

This pain was different. It was dull, it was growing, and it could not be alleviated, despite the tiny white pills and the bottles upon bottles of scotch.

The main disparity between the two pains was that one could be cured. The other could not.

Hesitantly, Chuck clenched his fingers tighter around hers. And the part of him that hoped she would respond knew she wouldn't.

Blair Waldorf was just too damn good; too good at avoiding her emotions, at avoiding him.

"I'll get the doctor," he said into empty air.

…

"How is she?" Serena's voice was timid, breaking through the haze that surrounded his mind. Having been in the hospital for the past night, his shirt wrinkled and his hair uncombed, Chuck Bass had never been less like himself before.

"She's fucking fine," Chuck answered drily. "She's fine after fainting because of exhaustion and lack of food. She's fucking fan-_tastic_, Serena."

Recoiling slightly at her stepbrother's words, Serena pulled her sweater closer to her, as if to ward off the chill of the hospital. She and Nate had returned to the Van der Woodsen penthouse briefly, picking up a change of clothes and giving Lily and Eric short, nearly incoherent, updates. Chuck, however, had maintained his vigil by Blair's bedside, despite the fact that the doctor's had said she would be asleep for the next fifteen or so hours.

She could still recall the last time she'd been here, the hopelessly broken girl lying comatose and brain dead in a hospital bed.

Only now it was her best friend occupying the bed, her body frail and rail-thin.

Sighing slightly and leaning her head against the back of the chair, Serena watched Chuck pace, running his hand through his hair.

And she knew that she couldn't take his words to heart.

"She'll get better," Serena said, almost as if she were attempting to convince herself instead of Chuck.

Her statement garnered no response, though Serena could tell from the tense set of Chuck's jaw that he had heard her.

"She'll get better," Serena said, even quieter as watched his even, measured steps.

"She'll get better." Nate echoed, his hand wrapping around Serena's.

…

"Miss Waldorf?"

The small warmth she had felt had been lost the moment Chuck's fingers released hers, the cold air rushing in to take his place.

"Miss Waldorf," the doctor said again, his glasses propped against graying hair. "Do you know why you're here?"

"I fainted," Blair said, her voice sounding stronger than she'd expected.

"Yes," the doctor cleared his throat. "And do you know why that is?"

Blair eyed the doctor scornfully, knowing full well why she had woken up in a hospital bed, her shoulder aching, and her head pounding.

"You're severely dehydrated," the doctor began, filling her silence with his own words. "Not to mention, you're anemic and you have developed an electrolyte deficiency."

The words were nothing new to her, having heard endless lectures from men and women in white coats and demeaning airs.

As the doctor rambled on, Blair focused on the door, and what she knew lay outside. She would have to face them-_him _-eventually, and Blair knew that she would never be prepared for what was to come.

Eleanor, she could deal with. Serena was a little tougher, but the blonde could be convinced by earnest nods and empty promises. Chuck, however, posed more of a problem.

But as the doctor leveled her with a stern glare, another warning, and the promise (threat) of a forthcoming visit from Doctor Sherman, Blair found herself unable to do anything but nod and lean back on her pillows resolutely.

Even with her back turned to him, Blair could hear the doctor's sigh, his disappointment palpable as he left the room.

Blair scoffed slightly. She didn't need the doctor's pity, and his disappointment was for naught.

This was the last time. Blair would make sure of that.

…

"I just don't understand _why_," Serena was saying, her hand still clutching Nate's as she voiced her concerns into the empty hallway.

"Well, err—" Nate stole a look at Chuck, who was sitting across from them, staring into empty space. "Blair hasn't exactly had the easiest time lately."

"But she was fine before," Serena reasoned. "She hasn't done this in a long time."

"How can you be so sure?" Chuck cut in, his eyes onyx as he stared down Serena. "The doctor told me she hasn't been healthy in a while. There's been damage to her heart. This has been going on for a long time."

"No," Serena said adamantly, shaking her head. "Not right under our noses. We would've noticed."

"It never really goes away," came a quiet voice, and the three turned to see Eleanor Waldorf, clad in a Chanel suit and wearing Manolo pumps, her face drawn and her hands shaking. "She never got over it."

Chuck was gripped with a slight anger, an anger born from her careless words, as if Blair's 'sickness' was a small matter, a blip on her radar. But Eleanor's next words chilled him to the bone.

"I'll never get over it," Eleanor said, looking past them and at the door. "I brought this upon her. And I'll never get over the fact that it was probably my fault."

Serena was quick to offer her assurances, Nate backing her up half-heartedly, though everyone present knew one thing.

Eleanor's words couldn't be closer to the truth.

"Harold's on his way here," Eleanor said, turning slightly towards Chuck. "Thank you for your generous offer, but it may be noted that the Waldorfs own a jet as well."

With her nose slightly in the air, Eleanor turned away, reaching for the doorknob.

"Thank you," she breathed, so quietly Chuck wasn't sure if he were imagining things.

And then she opened the door and was gone with a whiff of Chanel no.19 and a lingering air of gratitude.

…

Georgina groaned as she pulled herself up from the couch, her distended stomach awkward and too heavy for her petite frame. It had been easier when Lily was around sometimes, but lately, the loft had been empty, devoid of any presence but hers.

And their child.

Georgina had never had a true childhood. She was six when she first witnessed the full extent of her father's hatred of her mother.

She could still remember the slope of her mother's back as she cowered behind the plush red velvet couch. She could still hear her mother's cries mixed with her father's grunts of exertion.

They were not the loving, doting parents they pretended to be-none of the UES parents were. They both had their respective vices, Gloria Sparks had her pool boys, Percocet, and Prada-while Adam Sparks had secretaries, Smirnoffs, and spousal abuse.

And so, young Georgina Sparks, with her honey blonde curls-that later turned a dark chocolate-and bright blue eyes, learned to take care of herself.

Georgina Sparks never had stability, never had a devoted father who would cuddle her and buy her gifts, and never had a mother who would hold her when she cried.

She couldn't keep this child, that much she knew. But she also knew that no matter what inane situations she managed to get herself into, this child would have a home. With loving parents, preferably ones who could afford Lulu Guinness and baby Dior, but she wasn't picky.

Because as far as she was concerned, enameled Tiffany piggybanks and cashmere onesies weren't any competition for the attention and love she had craved.

Georgina knew that the nine months would be for naught, as she would never hold her baby in her arms, no matter how ridiculously sentimental and nauseous that made her.

She had never been selfless, but as Georgina made her way over to the fridge, she knew that she could be selfless.

If her current state of accommodations were anything to go by, Georgina could be selfless.

The Humphrey loft was mediocre at best, but Georgina had always adapted well. Whether it was the latest designer drug, or a dirty warehouse in which refuge had been found, Georgina Sparks had adapted.

So adapt she had, and now Georgina found herself with a bloated stomach and swollen ankles, constant backaches and incontrollable mood swings.

The only person that could've alleviated the distress and impatience was the one person who wanted nothing to do with her.

…

"Mother."

"Blair," Eleanor said, making her way over to her daughter and enveloping her in an awkward hug.

Settling herself in the hard chair beside Blair's bed, Eleanor looked around the room, on anything that wasn't Blair in a hospital gown, looking frailer than she'd ever seen her.

"Have you seen Dr. Sherman yet?" Eleanor asked, and Blair shook her head no, her brown curls tumbling in front of her face.

And this time, Eleanor looked. Really _looked_, her eyes tracing over her daughter's delicate features and the hardened resolution in her eyes.

"You are so beautiful," she told Blair. And it pained her to know that she had hardly said these words to her daughter.

Eleanor wondered what held her tongue before, what had turned her into a cold, distant mother with words of steel used to criticize her own daughter. She could still remember the thirteen year old girl in her black mary janes and Constance uniform, sitting primly in the therapist's office.

"Why do you choose to do this to yourself, Blair?" she had asked kindly, her eyes trained on the scowl on Blair's face, rather than the look of impassive indifference on Eleanor's.

Blair had mumbled a lie, and when prompted to speak up, only repeated the lie once more.

Eleanor had chosen to ignore it then, but she wouldn't now. Not anymore.

Blair's reaction to her words was carefully measured, "Thank you," she said evenly, not bothering to disguise the slight sarcasm in her voice.

"If you won't talk to me," Eleanor started slowly, her eyes still trained on Blair's, "at least talk to Serena. Dr. Sherman. You can't do this to yourself, Blair."

Hearing the sharp breath, Eleanor knew her words had not had their desired intention, and she frowned slightly, furrowing her brow.

"I know," Blair replied simply, still not meeting her mother's eye.

"Then why?" Eleanor asked, unable to keep the question from the tip of her tongue. "Blair, this isn't healthy. You know that. You can't continue on like this, lest you end up like…"

_Jenny_ was the name on the tip of her mother's tongue, and Blair heard it in the silence, cursed silently under her breath, and turned to her mother's gaze with a steely one of her own.

"I won't," she said simply.

"You'll stop?" Eleanor asked warily, because Blair is her daughter, despite their obvious differences, and Eleanor knew her well enough to tell a lie from truth.

"I'll stop," Blair replied.

And the silence that encompassed them, fabrication filling the spaces between her words, nearly drove Eleanor to tears, foreign and incomprehensible to her.

"What _happened_?" she asked, and Eleanor's voice was so unlike her it surprises both occupants of the hospital room.

The earnest in her mother's voice confuses her, and for a moment, if only for a single second, Blair lets her guard down.

And in that single second, a single tear escaped, and Eleanor, though unsure of what to do with herself, reached forward, clasping her daughter's hand in her own.

…

"Where is she?" Harold Waldorf's frantic voice cut through the tension between Chuck, Serena, and Nate, and they turned to him with wary expressions, noting the disheveled state of the once imposing Harold Waldorf.

"In there," Nate was the first to answer, nodding towards Blair's door. "Eleanor's in with her right now."

Harold nodded, his expression livid as he strode past Chuck, causing Chuck to nearly cower under Harold's harsh glare. No words were needed as he grasped the doorknob and turned, disappearing into the room as quickly as Eleanor had, though with a different air.

"I'm sorry," Roman said in his accented English, sitting next to Chuck, "Harold doesn't really blame you—"

"How does he know?" Chuck asked instead, ignoring the hasty apology.

"Blair and Serena visited us over the summer," Roman said with a small smile. "There are no secrets between Blair and her father."

He didn't doubt it. Out of everyone, Blair loved her father best, and though Chuck would've said he eclipsed that love before, he wasn't so sure anymore. Blair looked up to her father, admired him, and would have done anything to make her father proud of her. Not that Harold hadn't been proud of Blair, save for one incident, and Chuck knew that the man doted on his Blair Bear.

And Chuck also knew that earning Harold's respect was very nearly impossible.

…

Harold Waldorf was usually a calm man, never quick to anger nor quick to judge. But hearing Dorota's anxious words about his daughter, his Blair, in the hospital, Harold knew exactly who to blame.

The unwanted anger had risen in him at the sight of Chuck, sitting outside his daughter's hospital room, shadows under his eyes and a weariness about him. He didn't deserve to be there. Not after what he had done to Blair.

As soon as he stepped through the doors, however, and found his daughter and his ex-wife with tears in their eyes, their hands clasped, his anger dissipated in an instant.

Eleanor looked up at the sound of his entry, and for the first time in years, Harold saw the great Eleanor Waldorf in a state of utter disarray. Her elegant bun had fallen out, her makeup was smudged beyond repair, her eyes red and she held their daughter's hand.

Blair, she was so small, drowning in the sea of hospital white that surrounded her. And the sight of his daughter looking at him with an expression of utter brokenness, very nearly brought him to tears.

"Blair Bear," he said, and though her nickname sounded stale on his tongue, he enveloped her in his arms, ignoring the fact that she felt as frail as she looked. "How are you?"

"Recuperating," came Eleanor's quiet voice, watching the exchange with a faraway look of nostalgic desire in her eyes.

Harold nodded, and an unspoken moment passed between the two, a moment only two parents of a child could share.

"I'll be outside," Eleanor said, kissing Blair's forehead, "I want you to know, Blair, that what you did doesn't make you weak. It makes you stronger than I could ever hope to be."

…

Three pairs or eyes watched curiously as Eleanor Waldorf emerged from Blair's room, her face tired, but content.

"Charles," she said quietly, making the three jump ever so slightly, "May I speak to you?"

Chuck stood uncertainly and followed Eleanor's steps down the hall, his limp at a contrast with her perfectly even steps.

"Blair told me," Eleanor began conversationally, "what happened this spring."

"I—"

Eleanor held up a slim hand, and Chuck now knew where Blair had inherited her talent to command a room. "I won't pretend to understand your relationship with my daughter."

"Truth be told," Chuck said quietly, "I don't understand it myself."

Eleanor nodded, "I won't allow my daughter to be traded. For _real estate_."

She said the last word as if it was soiled, and in Eleanor Waldorf's mind, it probably was. For real estate was heavily tied to the nouveau riche, of which the Waldorfs were not, and of which the Basses were.

"I didn't mean—"

But Eleanor held up her hand once more, silencing him with a mere glare.

"But Blair's strong. She's not the precious, delicate girl Harold sees her as. And it takes more than a child millionaire with morality issues to break her."

Chuck's head snapped up, and he mulled over the verity of Eleanor's words as the older woman regarded him with the slightest of scorn.

"She's a Waldorf," Eleanor reminded him, "she doesn't need you."

Her words were scathing, but Chuck understood the true meaning behind them.

"Blair may find it in herself to forgive you one day," Eleanor said, her words threatening as she leaned in slightly. "But know that you must earn that forgiveness from me as well."

And she walked away, heels clipping against the green and white speckled linoleum, leaving a haughty air in her wake.

…

By the time he had mustered up the gumption to return to Blair's room, Harold was closing the door behind him, quiet reverence on his tired face. Serena was clearly missing from the small group assembled outside the door, and Chuck knew that Blair's patience could only extend so far.

"Chuck," Harold said, his preferred name sounding stale on Harold's tongue, "the last thing I want to do is thank you, but it seems necessary in the current situation."

Harold's words were sincere, though a slight hostility ran through them, along with undeniable strength.

"Dorota was there as well," Chuck said, deflecting the gratitude as easily as he had once deflected love.

"Blair wouldn't be in this situation if it weren't for you," Harold reminded him. "But you chose to stay."

Harold's words were simplistic in their nature, seemingly effortless to understand.

But it would take a few months, innumerable silences, and countless evenings spent in Blair's company before Chuck could grasp the true meaning of Harold's words.

As of now, he could only nod.

…

"I don't want to talk, Serena."

"We don't have to talk," Serena said, shrugging as she sat beside Blair, her blue eyes sweeping over the intricate setup.

"I'm so tired," came Blair's quiet admission, and Serena looked to her best friend.

'Tired" didn't even begin to describe the state she was in.

"We don't have to talk," Serena repeated, "sometimes, you just need someone to hold your hand."

And she did just that.

…

The tap on her shoulder shocked her awake, and Serena looked up blearily as she sat up, noting that her back ached and her arm was asleep.

But Blair's dainty hand was still clasped in hers, the blood red fingernails slightly chipped.

Serena made a mental note to get Dorota to collect Chanel Vamp along with Blair's things, knowing that her best friend had prided herself on being impeccably groomed.

"Nate's about to leave," Chuck said hoarsely, his eyes trained on the sleeping girl beside them. "You should go too."

Serena began to protest, but Chuck looked at her knowingly, and she relented with barely an objection, rubbing her sore arm as she left the room.

Serena looked back once, to see Chuck tucking a stray curl behind Blair's ear and leaning down to place the gentlest of kisses on her forehead.

Serena had averted her eyes upon the seemingly uncharacteristic display of affection, the moment altogether too intimate for her to watch.

Instead, she took Nate's outstretched hand and warm, protective embrace.

…

"Blair," And she braced herself, looking away from the coffee he held in his hands and the anxiety in his eyes.

Blair knew him far too well to not predict his next words, and she steeled herself quickly, barely acknowledging his presence.

"I thought you said you stopped."

She turned on her side, away from his piercing glare, his accusatory words punctuated by concern.

But she could never really escape him.

Whether he was present physically or not, Blair could never really escape the ensnarement of one Chuck Bass.

"Blair," he stressed.

She refused to cry. Her self-control was slipping, as easily through her fingers as grains of sand. And Blair could already feel her disloyal body rotating slightly towards his voice, the tears beginning to pool in her eyes.

"It never really went away," she admitted, more to herself than Chuck. "It's always going to be there, in the back of my mind. And I'm always going to want to do it. It's a matter of being strong enough to resist."

"You told me you stopped," Chuck pressed again. "Every time I'd ask, you told me you had stopped."

"I did stop," Blair said, the unwonted words spilling from her lips. "For a time."

The self-loathing in his eyes was clear, and Blair found herself frustrated with this version of Chuck Bass.

"I—"

"It's not about you Chuck," she said, turning on her side once more. "It never was."

If she hadn't been so attuned to his presence, she would've taken his silence to mean that he'd left the room and closed the door so quietly she hadn't noticed.

But as it were, Blair's skin prickled and every nerve ending tingled with his mere presence.

"Why?" he asked, finally breaking the silence that encompassed the room. "Why would you do this to yourself?"

He would never understand. Dr. Sherman, Serena, her mother, her father, none of them could ever truly understand.

But he wasn't her therapist, her best friend, her father, or her mother. He was Chuck. And maybe…

"Because it's easier," she told him. "It's easier to forget to remember than to remember to forget."

She sat up, looking at him with an indescribable expression.

"Blair—"

"Did you stay the night?" she asked, avoiding the subject once more.

He nodded, unable to do anything else.

"You should go home," Blair said, eyes raking over his disheveled appearance.

"I'm not leaving," he retorted stubbornly, his voice as impudent as a child's.

"Then stay," Blair bit out, eyes flashing. "I'm merely requesting you return to the hotel you sold me out for to get a change of clothes and quite possibly, a shower."

"Are you ever going to stop holding that against me?" Chuck said in quiet frustration, running his hand through his hair. "I've apologized a million times, I thought you'd forgiven me when you went to the—"

"Oh yes," Blair said, idly twirling a strand of chocolate round her fingertips. "Let's talk about how I was late because Dorota was in _labor_ and you went off to fuck Jenny Humphrey."

"I apologized for that too," Chuck said, his eyes darkening as he crossed the room towards her. "I told you I was sorry a million times, atoned for my sins—"

"You were shot," Blair reminded him. "You didn't die."

"You would have preferred that, wouldn't you?" Chuck said, the words flying out of his mouth of their own volition.

The words hit her like a bullet of their own, and Blair was unaccustomed to the calm that spreads through her, more so when she realized she had been expecting her anger to rise.

"No," she said simply.

And she appraised him regally, appearing queenly even while clad in a white hospital gown, ensconced in white blankets and surrounded by beeping machines.

"You should go home, Chuck."

He opened his mouth to protest once more, but her jaw was set and her eyes are firm.

And he knew that this was the best he could hope for as he nodded in agreement.

* * *

tbc


	7. Chapter 6

**AN: Apologies for the long wait, but I've realised that having two stories roughly around the same time period is not only confusing to my beta and I, but my readers. Updates for Atonement will continue to be a little slow, but Recollection will be updated regularly, and finished by Christmas. Which leaves me time to work on Atonement. Thank you to my beta, Bethaboo, and my wonderful, amazing readers. An extra long (nearly 12K!) chapter for you to enjoy...  


* * *

**

The entire time she was being wheeled out of the hospital—part of some ridiculous hospital policy she'd believed only existed on TV—Blair kept hoping she would see him.

The past week had seen visits from her mother, her father, Serena, Dr. Sherman, and even Nate, whose awkward disposition had been at odds with Serena's sunny smiles.

But he hadn't visited. Not once, since she had asked him to leave the week before. Blair knew she could do her best to push him away, but he would always push his way back in.

Blair sighed, and her mother cast her a curious look, before nodding towards her driver and slipping into the town car, followed by Dorota—and Blair's bags—and Blair herself, dressed so casually she hardly recognized herself.

She wasn't even wearing a headband, for goodness' sake.

"Everything alright, darling?" Eleanor asked, and Blair smiled stiffly in response. Eleanor's presence had been welcome, if uncomfortable, but Blair found herself wishing for _space_, something Eleanor's newfound principles disallowed.

"Just a little tired," she said carelessly, avoiding Dorota's searching look.

"Your father is returning to France tonight," Eleanor said, after a brief moment of hesitation. "You're having dinner with him and Roman."

Blair nodded mindlessly once more, having heard the information a dozen times, and turned her attention towards the window, where the traffic moved at a snail's pace.

"Harold isn't sure if he should leave—," Eleanor said, speaking loudly as if to offset the silence in the car.

"No," Blair said, returning her attention back to her mother, "I'll be fine, mother."

"You were just released," Eleanor pointed out, "And you weren't very receptive to Dr. Sherman."

"I'll talk to her tomorrow," Blair said with another sigh. "Really, mother, you both have nothing to worry about."

"You're our daughter," Eleanor replied simply, "I have a right to worry."

And as Dorota smiled slightly, Blair couldn't help but smile as well.

…

"What are we doing?" Serena's question came from out of the blue, and Nate regarded her, sitting beside him in his shirt, her blonde hair slightly mussed.

"Having breakfast," Nate answered cheekily, reaching across for a blueberry scone, only to be halted by a slim hand.

"Nate," Serena stressed, her blue eyes serious. Nate withdrew his hand, and braced himself.

"What are we doing?" Serena repeated.

She had been staying at the Empire the past week, had taken Nate's bed after numerous protests on his part. After a night on the stylish, if uncomfortable, couch, Nate had decided Chuck's bed was much more to his liking.

Serena had originally wanted to stay at Blair's for the remainder of the month, the atmosphere at the Van der Woodsens' being uncomfortably tense, every action speaking of grief, and empty smiles dropped like pennies.

Before she had the chance to ask, however, a brief phone call from Chuck, a tense forty-five minute cab ride, and a vigil by Blair's bedside had ensued.

Nate had asked her where she was heading after the hospital, she had replied with a shrug, a wry smile. Hesitantly, almost unwillingly, Nate had offered her a place at the Empire, claiming that the couch was every bit as comfortable as its ridiculous price tag suggested. Hesitantly, almost unwillingly, she had accepted.

And here they sat, a week later, a week of hospital visits and unanswered phone calls on Chuck's part.

He had returned briefly, chiefly on Blair's request, or so he had said. Nate and Serena took turns staying at the Empire, peeking into his room every so often, listening to the occasional snores and quiet breathing.

Just in case.

He had slept for a solid nine hours, despite his request they wake him at four, placated a worried Serena and sent her off to dinner with a half-hearted smirk and unenthusiastic comment about her and Nate's relationship.

When they had returned to the Empire later that night, shivering slightly from the cold, raindrops fresh on their shoulders and hair, Chuck was nowhere to be found.

His wallet, his phone, a few of his favorite ties, and his passport were gone. In his apparent rush, he had left his safe open, and Nate had grimly reported that the cash box had been cleaned out.

Why Chuck would need thirty thousand dollars they could only come up with one conclusion.

Serena had collapsed onto the couch, head in her hands as Nate sat beside her, staring into empty space.

Nate had proposed they keep Chuck's disappearance to themselves, and Serena had agreed.

It was for the best, after all, if no one else had to worry over his disappearance.

"I don't know," came Nate's quiet admission, bringing her back to the present.

"You never do," Serena responded bitterly, and Nate bristled, his fingers tensing around the steaming mug of coffee.

"What did you expect me to say?" he shot back, and Serena recoiled slightly at the unusual display of irritation from Nate, "that we were going to get back together? I don't know Serena. You—"

"You hurt _me_," Serena cried out, "He's my dad, Nate. I couldn't just hand him over to the cops, I—"

"I did," Nate told her, quietly, almost as if he were speaking to himself rather than her. "Or at least, I was prepared to. It wasn't because I didn't love my own father. He did something wrong, and I wasn't going to let him run away."

"And maybe you're honorable enough," Serena mocked, pushing her chair back, "but I'm not. You had no right to choose whether or not my father was to go to prison."

"Serena—" Nate called, seemingly rooted to the spot as she stormed into the room, the door closing behind her with enough force to rattle the doorframe.

He sighed, leaning back in his chair and taking another long sip of his coffee. The hot liquid burned its way down his throat, and for a moment, he momentarily forgot about Chuck's disappearance, Serena's stubbornness, and the funeral he was to attend in a few days.

Such thoughts could not be easily banished, however, and he was still mulling over where Chuck could be when Serena emerged from the room, hair tossed into a quick ponytail and dressed as though she had worn the first outfit she had grabbed.

"I'm meeting Blair after lunch," she mentioned as she jabbed the elevator button, refusing to look his way,

Nate nodded, even though they had just barely begun breakfast, and he knew Blair was not to be let out of Eleanor Waldorf's hawk-like stare till she ate lunch.

And at this point, getting Blair to eat a decent lunch was nearly as improbable as Chuck's return.

…

"Why is this taking so long?" Chuck growled, rubbing the back of his neck as he paced the room.

"These things take time," his PI, Mike, replied evenly, though it was clear his patience was waning as well.

"They're going to call today?" Chuck asked instead, the same question he had asked for the past six days.

"They'll call," Mike replied confidently, the same answer, the same tone, that he had replied with the past six days.

Chuck muttered out a response, stalking over to the bar in search of salvation. He poured a generous amount into his tumbler, ignoring the reproachful sound from the other end of the room.

"Why is this ring so important anyways?" Mike asked timidly, as if the question had been on the tip of his tongue for the past few days.

In return for his courage, he was rewarded with a glare, the sound of a glass slamming down onto the granite counter, and a haughty response.

"I'm going to the bar. Call me if you get anymore information."

…

"Another fight with Nate, S?" Blair commented, slightly sick of hearing Serena's angry stomps and the loud screeching noise of metal against metal.

Serena shot her a look, and returned to flipping through a rack of Herve Leger dresses that Blair only wrinkled her nose at.

"I'm sorry," Serena said with a sigh, and Blair turned from her own perusal of dresses, raising an eyebrow at Serena.

"It's just…" Serena began in frustration, but found herself unable to voice her grievances with Nate, "he called the cops on my father," she finished with a scowl.

"That argument got old about three weeks ago, S," Blair responded, ignoring Serena's glare.

"But he's my father," Serena protested, "Nate had no right to—"

"Nate was doing what he thought was best," Blair replied with a roll of her eyes. "You know Nate. He was always slightly more morally inclined than Chuck."

Blair paused, as if mulling over a thought, her hand skimming past a red dress with elegant beading.

"It's not difficult to be more morally inclined than Chuck,," Serena commented with a laugh, but at the look on Blair's face, she stopped short, and she remembered her and Nate's conversation with their PI the night prior.

"Where has Chuck been lately?" Blair asked casually, turning her back to Serena as she continued to scrutinize the dresses.

"Boston," Serena replied easily, the lie coming easily to her lips as it had with Lily's same inquiry. There had been preparations for the funeral, Rufus' and Dan's grief, and Bass Industries related-crisis to deal with, leaving her mother slightly wrung out and thankfully, accepting of their excuse. "He had some last minute business in Boston."

It would not do to worry her, Serena knew, and though Blair's strong front had been keeping up appearances as of late, they still tread on eggshells around her. Afraid that their actions would only draw her further in her downward spiral, they tiptoed around subjects and wore bright sunny smiles in attempt to pretend.

But Blair had always been a master of pretend, and she saw through their pretense as easily as Chuck would have.

"Boston?" Blair questioned, frowning slightly, "What business would he have in Boston?"

"Oh, you know," Serena replied airily, "he's Chuck Bass. He hardly left notice with Nate and I before leaving."

Blair nodded, the latter half of the sentence she was all too familiar with, "Did he say when he was coming back?" she asked, her voice casual.

"No," Serena bit her lip, wondering how long they would be able to keep up the charade, "Why?" she couldn't help but ask, looking slyly towards Blair.

"No reason," the brunette replied breezily, picking a beige dress with a wide, peony-colored sash at random, "What do you think of this?"

"Gorgeous, B," Serena assured, a sigh escaping her lips as Blair walked over to another rack, this one rife with black dresses.

There was really only one reason to shop for black dresses in the heat of the summer.

…

"You're still here," Rufus said in slight surprise, upon entering the Humphrey loft.

"Where else would I be?" Georgina snapped back, but her anger disappeared upon the sight of Rufus' tired, weary face and despondent countenance.

"We're still working on Dan," Rufus said, effectively changing the subject, "I didn't raise my son to be a—"

"I know," Georgina replied tiredly, closing her eyes and leaning back on the couch, "I'm okay with it."

"Just give him time," Rufus suggested, scrutinizing her carefully as he turned the coffee machine on. He had already stopped for a coffee on the way over, downing it quickly in an attempt to make his sleepless night carry him through the day.

But the simple act of grinding coffee beans and carefully measuring spoonfuls into the machine was calming. It was something he had done daily, before they had moved to the Van der Woodsen's penthouse, where gourmet coffee had been served in elegant ceramic mugs.

He had missed his slightly chipped 'World's Best Dad' mug, the one Jenny and Dan had made him when they were six and four respectively. He had missed the sound of his coffeemaker and the wafting aroma of freshly ground coffee beans.

He had missed the loft, he realized, looking around the space he had called home for so many years.

"I'm supposed to be on my way soon," Rufus said into empty air, "I was just here to pick up one of Jenny's—"

His daughter's name caught in his throat, and he held back a small sob, as he had been the past few days.

"I'm just here to pick up one of the dresses Jenny made," Rufus finished, "Alison thought it would be the most appropriate."

His ex-wife had not made the journey down from Hudson to say goodbye. It had taken coercion on his part, to get her to Jenny's funeral. Alison had agreed, one stipulation made abundantly clear.

She was not to see her daughter's body, she had told Rufus through sobs, she wanted to remember her daughter before the entire mess had happened.

Rufus had given his consent almost immediately, and when he had hung up, found himself almost _jealous_ of Alison's ignorance to the person Jenny had become.

At least Alison could hold onto the girl their daughter had been. The sweet, ambitious girl who had begged her parents for a sewing machine on her twelfth birthday and taken pride in re-creating designer labels, instead of wearing them.

"I'll be here," Georgina said absentmindedly, her eyes trained on the TV, though it seemed her thoughts were elsewhere.

"Do you want to help?" Georgina turned to him, eyes wide with disbelief, and Rufus could hardly believe the words that had come from his mouth.

"I'm not really good with this whole fashion thing," he said with a wry smile, "And I could really use a woman's opinion."

"Sure," Georgina answered, standing up slowly.

She averted her eyes from Rufus as he stepped into his daughter's room, his shoulders hunching, fingers clenching.

"I can leave," she said quickly, already halfway out the door as Rufus collapsed onto the bed, tears springing forth as he took in Jenny's room.

"Stay," Rufus nearly pleaded, his voice broken. "I promised myself I would be strong. No amount of crying is going to change things. What happened to Jenny was terrible, tragic. But it's not going to take over our lives. I won't let it."

He said the words with terribly hopeless conviction, as if he were trying to convince himself, as if the words were pre-programmed into his head.

"Okay," Georgina winced at the odd tone in her voice, but she sat down in a chair beside the bed, looking warily around the room.

"Dan's not doing any better than I am," Rufus tells her quickly, his eyes on the bulge that was her stomach. "He's not himself right now, you can't—"

"I know," Georgina said tiredly, not wanting to relive the conversations they had already had. "I don't need anyone."

Her words are strong, confident. But even Rufus can see past the façade.

"You shouldn't be alone," he told her quietly, "when…you know."

She knew. She had been preparing for this day for the past few months. Hell, she had been preparing since she had visited the doctor and gotten the positive result.

"It doesn't matter either way," she replied simply, eyes still roaming the strange, unfamiliar room. She had spent weeks in this loft, yet Jenny's room had always remained a mystery to her, an untrodden corner of the loft she had come to call home.

"Have you decided?" Rufus asked quietly, his eyes trained on hers, and Georgina frowned to herself as she realized his intent. To forget about his daughter through talking about her child.

"I decided long ago," Georgina snapped, "I'm giving it up."

"You're sure?" Rufus asks after a moment's silence, voicing his trepidation.

"There isn't a place for a baby in our lives," she explained simply. "This is the best option."

"If you're sure…" Rufus said leadingly, and Georgina glared at him in return.

"I'll never be sure," she spat, "I'll always wonder what it'll be like, to take this child into my arms and call him or her _mine_. I'll always wish I had a chance to get to know them, no matter how stupid or disgusting children can be. I'll always wonder."

"You will," Rufus promised, his own experiences with his own recently discovered child still fresh in his mind, "it's not impossible, Georgina."

"In this situation?" Georgina gestured around her, but it was not towards the physical space around them, but the situation itself. "It's no place to raise a child."

"I know," Rufus agreed, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

They sat in silence, with Rufus looking thoughtfully, if sadly, at the open door of Jenny's closet.

Georgina pulled herself to her feet with a quiet groan, walking towards the yawning opening of Jenny's closet.

Taking out three dresses at random, Georgina held them up in front of her, a critical eye sweeping each ruffle, each hemline, and each perfectly placed dart.

"What do you think of these two?" Georgina asked, turning around. The sigh that came from Rufus told her that she had done the right thing.

She was helping him move on, as odd as it sounded.

"Jenny made that white dress to attend the White Party," Rufus recalled with a faint smile, his fingers touching the white lace delicately, as if it would break as easily as his daughter. "She was so ambitious. She—" his voice caught in his throat, but he soldiered on, "she had a bright future ahead of her."

"I'd like to think she did, too," Georgina said, the sincerity of her words surprising even her.

"And this one," Rufus chuckled lightly as he took the pink-and-white dress from Georgina's fingers, "Jenny made this when Alison brought that sewing machine home for her."

"When was that?" Georgina asked, unable to help herself. She blamed it on the hormones, making her irrationally nostalgic and eager for details of the father of her baby's dead sister's childhood.

"She was twelve," Rufus replied with a faraway smile, "and she had found a dress she liked. A dress she coveted. Of course, the price tag was astronomical. But Jenny found a way around that. She used sewing machines at a community centre, running back and forth between here and there, her eyes bright. Alison found the antique sewing machine for her the next week. It was supposed to be a Christmas present, but Jenny found it before we even had a chance to get it checked out."

"Where is it?" Georgina blurted out, unable to help herself once more. "Her sewing machine."

"Storage," Rufus admitted, looking down, "I didn't think anyone could stand to look at it, after…"

Georgina nodded, understanding, "If you don't mind, I'd like you to keep it."

"Why?" Rufus asked, his voice only slightly sarcastic, "It's not like we know anyone who would use it."

"I'd like to keep it," Georgina said, firmer this time, "we may find a use for it yet."

"If you say so," Rufus said, though he knew that Alison would not want to part with the antique in any case. "So which dress?"

"We should put her in black," Georgina said, considering Jenny's wardrobe. Most of her own designs had been stunning, no doubt, but the few black dresses she had found were either too short or too ridiculous, even by her standards.

"No," Rufus said, adamant, plucking the white dress from her fingertips, "this is perfect. Jenny worked for hours on this dress. And when she couldn't get Eleanor's assistant to wear it, she wore it to the party instead, wrangling an invite from Eric. This dress _is_ Jenny."

With an argument like that, all Georgina could do was place the palm of her hand on her overgrown belly, and nod.

…

"It's your favorite," Harold said, nodding towards the seared yellowtail and truffle risotto that Blair was currently picking at.

Her glass of red wine had been refilled once already, and was currently verging on being nearly empty, despite the fact that it had not been consumed in conjunction with her dinner.

"It is," Blair assured her father, "I'm just not hung—"

At the warning look from Roman, and the apprehensive expression that passed over her father's face, Blair backpedaled quickly, smiling through her unease.

"I had a big lunch, that's all," she claimed with a sugary smile. It wasn't entirely untrue. Dorota had ordered her favorites from Nobu, laid it on the table with a proud smile, and encouraged Blair to eat, very nearly stuffing sashimi and lobster ceviche down her throat.

In the end, Blair had acquiesced, eaten exactly three pieces of salmon sashimi and four bites of ceviche before claiming her stomach full. In truth, her stomach had protested at the food, but after spending days in the hospital, where take-out usually arrived cold and unappetizing, she had found the food oddly welcoming.

The rich, fragrant aroma of her truffle risotto curled under her nose, and her stomach clenched in protest, as if it were warning her against it.

"You could do with eating more," Harold said lightly, but his words carried an undertone of warning she did not miss.

With a placating smile, Blair grasped her spoon in her right hand and scooped up the tiniest amount of risotto possible. Nearly shoving it into her mouth, she swallowed without tasting, knowing that savoring the buttery, rich taste would only lead to her knees on marble floors and her finger down her throat.

Harold smiled, taking a sip of his own wine, seemingly appeased.

"So where are you going to school in the fall?" Roman interjected, his accent grating slightly on Blair's nerves, though his change of subject was a welcome one.

"Columbia," she replied with another smile, though the mere thought of the school reminded her exactly who had gotten her in there in the first place.

"I've seen the campus before," Roman said with a beatific smile, "simply beautiful."

"Yes," Blair agreed, "and a welcome change from NYU. The campus was utterly horrifying."

"How so?" Harold inquired, a small smile twisting at his lips.

"The students there are in desperate need of some advice—fashion and otherwise," Blair answered simply. "Leggings-as-pants is a generally accepted rule in NYU," she added with a shudder.

"Horrible," Roman sympathized, nodding eagerly as Harold stifled a smile.

"Quite," Blair responded, taking another bite of risotto. "And the bags! Those girls must not have heard of Lanvin or Mulberry. There were all sorts of…furry things they carried. And odd prints mixed with ostentatious jewelry was the norm."

Roman shook his head, completely serious as he leaned forward, intent on listening to the many faux pas committed by NYU students.

"Of course," Blair continued, "Vanessa was the worse. She hardly washed her hair, she was so busy mixing prints and making hideously large rings that she wore on a daily…"

Harold leaned back as Blair continued listing the various fashion crimes, pausing after each sentence to take another bite of yellowtail, or perhaps a spoonful of risotto.

She would be alright, he thought with a relieved sigh, one that went unnoticed by the two other occupants of the table, who were embroiled in a conversation so intriguing Blair had already finished half her dinner without her knowledge.

…

The scotch at the bar was no better than the one he had half-consumed in the room, Chuck thought wryly, eyeing the liquid in his glass with distaste and wishing he were in New York, or at the very least, a place with decent scotch.

But being down in the bar meant avoiding Mike's question—an unusual one as Mike had tended to keep to himself and do Chuck's bidding, no questions ask.

He supposed that scouring Europe for an engagement ring and emptying out his cash box in a vain attempt to ensure no one could outbid him warranted some questions.

In no way was he obligated to answer—Mike worked for _him_ after all—but the fact of the matter was, Chuck wasn't able to answer it to himself.

The estimated price of the ring was projected at 30% above its original cost, and though the figure Mike had shown him had left him slightly taken aback, Chuck knew there was no price too high.

Another ring just felt _wrong_, as if he had given up too easily the first time.

And he knew, just knew, that this was the ring Blair Waldorf would wear on the fourth finger of her left hand.

One day.

He just had to retrieve the ring first, and though Chuck knew that he had left with nary a word, he couldn't bring himself to call.

It was easier, to focus solely on getting the ring back, than to attempt and unravel the mess he had created back home.

Leaving abruptly had been the best course of action, even if he was running, in a way. Though he had felt he was leaving Blair alone, especially when she needed him most, he couldn't help but relish the breath of fresh air the trip provided him with.

A chance to escape the grief, the sadness, and the misery that had encompassed them all.

A chance to reflect, to reminisce, and to recall the days where things were so much simpler.

A chance to figure things out.

He was interrupted by the buzz of his phone against the bar top, and he grabbed it eagerly, his anticipation growing as he spotted Mike's name on the screen.

The man knew better than to interrupt Chuck in his current state, knew more than well enough to leave him well enough alone.

The call could only mean one thing.

The ring.

…

Harold had left with an encouraging smile and a warning in his eyes; Roman, on the other hand, had given her a beaming smile and a promise to send over a pair of Parisian-exclusive Manolos.

Blair couldn't help but feel slightly more inclined to Roman, not entirely due to the shoes, but because he had done something her father could not.

He had helped her forget.

Everyone else, from her mother, to Serena, her father, and even Nate, had been dead set on getting Blair to 'deal' with her problem.

When in reality, Blair wanted a single, simple, perfect night where she could throw caution to the wind and simply allow herself to be happy.

There had only been a handful of times she had felt like that, and one that stood out most prominently was a night, nearly four years ago, where she had stepped up onto a stage because of a dare.

And she had performed the most daring, risqué, liberating striptease of her life, peeling away insecurities with every layer, and feeling freer as she shed her clothing.

It had not only freed her of her mother's horrid, Mayflower-esque dress, but of burdens and anxieties she had bore on her frail shoulders.

It had been magical.

It was what followed after, in the limo of one Chuck Bass, that had truly sealed her freedom, truly given her a taste of what it was like to be simply Blair.

And she had experienced that, a small slice of that, tonight, laughing with Roman.

Blair entered the foyer slowly, preoccupied with her thoughts and trials, too focused on reminiscing to notice her mother.

"Blair!" Eleanor said, slightly exasperated after her third attempt at gaining her daughter's attention.

"Sorry, mother," Blair was at the ready with a bright, artificial smile.

"How was dinner?" Eleanor inquired, her voice seemingly genuine.

"Fine," Blair replied tonelessly, already losing interest in the conversation, "Daddy and Roman took me to Le Bernardin."

"And you…" Eleanor trailed off, unsure, "ate?" she finished awkwardly, holding her tongue.

Blair sighed, though she had been expecting Eleanor's bout of concern, "Yes, mother, I ate. And if you don't mind, I'm exhausted. I'd like to retire for the evening."

Her words were stiff, formal, and not lost on Eleanor.

"Of course," Eleanor sighed in defeat, a wan smile on her lips, "just…Blair?"

"Yes, mother?" Blair turned around, and if the exasperation were not clear in her voice, it was clear in her eyes.

"Don't lock your door," Eleanor warned, "if Dorota or I hear running water…"

Blair scoffed, a scornful look on her face as she turned to face her mother fully, "I'm _fine_, mother," she snapped, "you don't have to agonize over my well-being just because you never did before."

As soon as the fury left her lips, Blair paled, and her hand reached out, as if to pluck the words from the air and grasp them in her tiny fist.

As it was, Eleanor had been attacked by the very words, crippled, even, as she sunk to the low velvet chaise, a frown etched on her features.

"I know," she began with a quaver in her voice, "that I was a little bit absent in your upbringing—"

"A little?" Blair scoffed, and once more, she wished the words had not flown so easily from her lips, but she forged on, "mother, even when you _were_ here physically, you were never _here_ with me. Your mind was always on your next ball, your next gala. Or your next big fashion line, or fawning over my best friend."

Blair took a deep breath as she finished her tirade, and though she knows her words are sharp as knives, she cannot bring herself to regret finally telling her mother the truth.

"I know," Eleanor said again, her voice full of anguish, an emotion unheard of in Eleanor Waldorf, "Blair, I never meant—"

Her voice cracked, shook, and Blair took a step forward instinctually, as Eleanor's shoulders bowed.

But it was Eleanor Waldorf, and the woman simply held up a hand, stilling Blair's movements as she composed herself.

"I never meant," she began again, "for it to turn out like this. You were always your Daddy's girl, Blair," Eleanor recalled with a nostalgic smile, "only Harold could quiet you when you threw a tantrum. If anything, the tantrum was because of _me_. There was always a bond between you two, one you and I never had. Sure, I could dress you up in silk dresses and bowed headbands, but it never compared to what you two had. It was indescribable."

Blair opened her mouth, but found that no sound was willing to come out. Instead, she simply nodded, taking a seat across from her mother.

"And when your father left, I closed myself off from the world, believing that I had brought it upon myself. Do you remember, what you told me? The night Harold left?"

Blair nodded once more, as fresh tears found their way into the corners of her eyes, and she blinked furiously, unwilling to cry in her mother's presence.

"You told me I should have left, instead of him," Eleanor recalled with a sad smile, "I don't blame you."

"I didn't mean it," Blair whispered quietly, "I was so angry…at him for leaving, at you for pushing him away, at…myself, for not being enough to make him stay."

"You were always enough," Eleanor told her daughter gently, "Harold left for his own happiness, as selfish as that sounds, and I admire him for being brave enough to pursue that."

Eleanor cast a glance at Blair, who was staring off into space, and she knew that they were remembering the same night, the same tears, the same call that had been placed when Blair had been found, ice cold and unmoving, on her bathroom rug.

"We each blamed ourselves," Eleanor told Blair, her voice growing stronger, "for something that was never our fault in the first place. Your father left, not because he didn't love you, or because he hated me, but because he wanted happiness. We can't blame ourselves for something that isn't our fault, Blair."

Eleanor's words paralleled her current situation, Blair thought wryly, blinking back the last few tears as she regarded her mother, who also knew that her words were to be applied to the current situation.

"Were you brave enough?" Blair piped up at last, after what seemed like an eternity of silence.

"I wasn't," Eleanor admitted, "at first. But I think my being with Cyrus is proof that I _am_ brave enough to pursue my own happiness. Did you think I hadn't had the same worries as you? What would everyone else say? About Cyrus and I. There would be gossip. There would be talk. And yet, being with Cyrus, nothing else mattered. I loved him enough to marry him in an impromptu ceremony, everyone else be damned."

Eleanor stood up then, walking over to Blair and pulling her up to her feet.

Tipping her chin up, Eleanor looked into her daughter's deep brown eyes, brimming with tears and tragedy of someone well past her young age.

"I _know_," she told Blair firmly, "that you're braver than I ever will be. Which is why I'm confident you'll find your own happiness."

Blair made no sound, no agreement, only removed her chin from her mother's hand and wrapped her arms around her mother's waist, burying her face into her mother's shoulder, as she had when she was a child.

"Thank you," she whispered, her gratitude muffled, but heard all the same.

…

"Still nothing?"

Nate nearly jumped, though he was unsure why, as he had heard the quiet sound of the elevator, the quieter sound of flats slapping lightly against hardwood floors.

It was the fact that she had returned, the fact that her tone held no anger, only curiosity that surprised him.

"Nothing," he confirmed, glancing at the silent phone on the table.

"Where could he be?" Serena wondered aloud, her exasperation with the missing brunette apparent as she sat next to him.

"I don't know," Nate said with a sigh, willing his phone to ring, "but _when_," Serena noted the usage of 'when' and not 'if' with a small smile, Nate was always an optimist, "he does return, he'll wish he never left."

"Do you think it's because of…" Serena's voice dropped to a whisper, and Nate was forced to lean closer to her. Not that he minded. "Because of Blair?"

Nate frowned, drawing back slightly, but answered despite the indecency of the question, "If anything, he left because he loved her," he reasoned.

"If he loved her," Serena shot back, "he wouldn't have left. Ever."

"This is Chuck Bass we're talking about," Nate reminded her, his patience laced with a touch of annoyance, "he doesn't deal well with these things. So he—"

"He just doesn't," Serena finished, and Nate nodded.

"I don't blame him," Nate said wryly, after a moment's silence, one that consisted of glances out of the corner of blue eyes, "right about now, a vacation in…well, anywhere, really, would be welcome."

Serena leaned her head on his shoulder, her actions almost hesitant. But their bodies seemed to know each other, as he lifted his arm automatically, and Serena snuggled further into his chest.

"I don't blame him either," she admitted quietly, "but I can't help but envy him."

"Envy Chuck Bass?" the slight laughter that came from Nate reverberated deep within his chest, and Serena smiled once more.

"We can't just leave," she reasoned, "he can."

"Says who?"

Nate's tone was challenging, hopeful, and Serena knew that nothing good could come from the turn their conversation had taken.

"Me," she replied firmly, lifting her head up to look into his eyes, "you know we can't leave, Nate."

"Why not?" Nate asked, meeting her gaze defiantly, "If Chuck can leave, we sure as hell can leave."

"Jenny's—" Serena took a deep breath, squeezing her eyes shut against the tears that threatened to escape, "Jenny's funeral is in two days, Nate."

Serena laid her head back down, more hesitant than before, but unwilling to break the temporary contact they had forged.

"I know," Nate confessed, "Why else would I suggest a trip away?"

"It would be easier," Serena mused, "but we can't, Nate."

"We have to be here," Serena said into empty silence, her quiet words filling cold air, "for _them_."

Nate could only imagine that _them_ not only included Blair, but that she was the main cause of Serena's concern.

"I know," Nate repeated, his hand somehow finding its way into her golden locks, running his fingers through her hair, he sighed once more, "I just wish it wasn't this way."

…

It had taken him more than ten thousand to his PI, a few miscellaneous expenses here and there, and exactly twenty-six thousand dollars.

The ring that bore an inscription, a promise, and their initials intertwined, now sat in front of him.

So much trouble for such a small thing, Mike had said, before disappearing into the night. Not without being assured the money would be wired to his account in a matter of days, of course.

But it was much bigger than a platinum band and eight-carat, cushion cut diamond. It was a representation of how far they had come. How far they had fallen. How far they had gone to pull themselves out of graves they themselves dug.

It was so much more than a ring, Chuck knew, because it would be on the fourth finger of her left hand someday...

Soon.

But as the plane taxied out of the runway, the engine roaring in his ears, the flight attendant across the way smiling all too welcomingly at him, Chuck felt himself gripped with an irrational fear.

Perhaps not so irrational, as he _had _disappeared without a word. When Blair was in the hospital, no less.

He had no excuse, other than he didn't want to be discouraged from taking the trip. But when it came down to it, he knew no amount of begging or pleading would have convinced him to cancel his trip.

Chuck knew that he hadn't told a soul, not even Blair, because this was something he needed to do. To reassure himself that they weren't over—not in the slightest and to reflect on what he had done, to himself, to his family, to _Blair_. To realize that the future he had envisioned for them lay not in the diamond ring in his hand, but the actions in which he proved he still loved her.

Because he never would, never could, stop loving Blair Waldorf.

…

The ding of the elevator could be heard, over Nate's snores, and surprisingly, Serena's sleep talking.

Serena sat up straight, accidentally elbowing Nate in the process. They had both fallen into bed, exhausted, but intelligent enough to keep some semblance of space between them.

With Nate's king bed, however, it wasn't too difficult. But the fact that she was nearly on top of him could only mean that they had somehow found each other amongst the blankets and pillows, in their sleep, no less.

"Serena?" Nate's voice was bleary, and he rubbed his eyes tiredly, "Go back to bed."

"Shhh," Serena whispered back, her voice hard, "I heard something."

"What?" Nate allowed his frustration to shine through, it being five am and all.

"The elevator," Serena said, a note of fear creeping into her voice, "Nate, you don't think—"

"We're in a five-star hotel, with a doorman and concierge," Nate reminded her gently, "I doubt it's a burglar."

"Right," Serena replied, a blush creeping over her features as she berated herself for her irrational thought. "Wait, Nate, you don't think—"

He refused to get his hopes up, having been disappointed by Chuck more than once in his life, but as Nate swung his legs over the bed and held out his hand to Serena, he couldn't help but hope.

Hands clutched between them, they made their way from Nate's bedroom, and into the dark lighting of the living room.

Chuck Bass stood at the bar, clearly exhausted, luggage beside him, and a customary scotch in his hands.

"Nate," he acknowledged, and Serena noted that the fatigue was also apparent in his voice, "Sis," he said with the barest hint of a smirk, his eyes travelling towards their joined hands.

Dropping Nate's hand quickly, Serena made her way over to the bar, barely able to keep from running, "Chuck, you're back!"

"I am," he replied in amusement, earning him a kick in the shin from Serena. Her being barefoot, however, had less of an impact than heels would have.

"Where were you, man?" Nate inquired, finally moving forward, as if the shock of seeing Chuck had stilled his movements. "We were…looking for you."

"I gave you no reason to worry," Chuck replied smoothly, "everything was taken care of."

"Except you," Serena cut in, eyes flashing furiously, "did you really think that you could disappear and none of us would notice?"

"No, of course not. I'm too important to not be missed."

Underneath his false bravado, the commanding tone of his voice, Serena heard something else.

She heard…fear. Fear that he wasn't missed, fear that they were better off without him in their lives.

"Do you know what you did to us?" Serena said instead, attempting a glare. "To Blair?"

The mention of Blair's name sent Chuck's façade straight out the window, and the color drained form his face, and his knuckles whitened as he clutched the glass in his hands. Nate winced at that, anticipating picking up glass shards if Chuck threw the glass.

"I had to," Chuck ground out.

"You _didn't_," Serena shot back, "whatever it was, it shouldn't have been more important than her."

"It wasn't," Chuck seethed, glaring at Serena, "I wouldn't have left if I didn't know for sure she would be alright."

"You knew she would be alright? Oh, that's rich, Chuck, coming from you—"

Frustrated, his sleep deprived brain urging him to do things he wouldn't otherwise, Chuck held the ring up in Serena's face, grim victory on his features.

"Is that a ring?" Nate stepped forward, squinting at the glittering diamond, "Whoa, man, you bought a ring for Blair?"

"I did," he admitted, setting the ring on the marble countertop, "but not recently."

"When did you buy it?" Nate asked, peering down at the ring as Serena stared at it, speechless.

"A while ago," he replied laconically, his eyes trained on Serena's. "I only recently got it back."

"What happened to it?" Serena's words are a quiet apology, and the nod he gives is an equally quiet acceptance.

Chuck heaved a sigh, looking from Serena's eyes to Nate's, both equally tired, both equally confused.

He poured himself another drink, sipping it before turning back to face the two, bleak determination apparent on his features, sharpened from a lack of sleep.

It was going to be a long night.

Make that morning.

…

It could be likened to explaining to a child how to tie their shoelaces.

Serena and Nate had required numerous explanations, which had spanned his entire morning and afternoon, depriving him of much-needed sleep.

Which was his only excuse for why he had shown up at the Waldorf's almost exactly a day after he had arrived back in New York. It was also his excuse for why his eyes were tired, and the peonies clutched in his hands were slightly wilted.

Blair had taken one look at him, fatigued and carrying a slightly wilting bouquet, and turned away from him, with a terse, "Get out."

"Blair," he called after her, his voice heavy with exhaustion. Not of her, but of the day itself. "I had to leave."

"I'm not arguing with you, Chuck," Blair spoke over her shoulder, regarding him coolly, "I'm just done."

He rushed up the stairs as quickly as his leg allowed, but she was already halfway across the landing, nearly out of reach.

"If it even matters," he said, between gasps, "it was for you."

"That's rich," Blair kept her voice even, nonchalant, stepping into her bedroom and watching him from her doorway, "considering I was in the hospital."

"You told me to leave," Chuck retorted, grabbing onto the banister for support. A flicker of concern wove its way through her indifference, but it was quickly smoothed over.

"I told you to go home," Blair reminded him, "I didn't tell you to leave for Boston. Though I suppose your business has always taken precedence over anything else."

"Boston?" Chuck repeated, and Blair allowed a short, terse laugh at his confusion.

"Did you suffer brain damage along too?" she taunted, but the jab fell flat when she realized that Chuck was sincerely confused.

"I didn't go to Boston," he said slowly, suppressing a wince as he ascended the last few steps, and crossed the landing. "I was in…some non-descript part of Prague."

"Even better," Blair replied drily, but the ire in her voice had been replaced by curiosity, "and how, pray tell, were you in Prague for _me_?"

Chuck Bass didn't do heartfelt confessions. Not really. Chuck Bass had just barely begun to be able to say three words eight letters, and _mean _it.

There were no words for why he had been in Prague, only actions.

So Chuck Bass did what he did best. He showed her why he had been in Prague.

…

"I don't think this is a good idea, Serena."

"Shh," Serena shushed him, her legs beginning to cramp from being crouched on the floor for an extended period of time. Her and Nate had stealthily grabbed a cab, Serena eagerly shouting, "Follow that limo!" to the cab driver, her blue eyes shining with laughter.

"Isn't this…breaking and entering?" Nate whispered back, adjusting his own uncomfortable position.

Serena rolled her eyes, and shook her head, "The doorman let us in, and I used my own key to get in here. I highly doubt this is breaking and entering, Nate."

"Chuck and Blair won't be happy," Nate grumbled, adjusting his position further, though it did nothing to alleviate the cramp in his calf.

"They won't have to find out," Serena reminded him. They had taken the stairs up to the Waldorf's penthouse, and Serena had ascended easily in four-inch heels. For the first three floors, maybe. Nate's love of lacrosse, however, seemed to have paid off, for it was only at the fifth floor did his breathing start to become labored.

Nevertheless, they had made it to the eight floor, the penthouse, sweaty, breathless, and starting to regret their master plan.

The had snuck in a side door, then hid behind the large couch in the Waldorf's living room, the same one that they were now trapped behind, as they heard Chuck and Blair's voices from above.

"Shh," Serena said once more, and they both fell silent, straining to hear the argument.

…

A diamond ring fell from his fingertips, and bounced twice on the carpet, coming to a stop at her feet.

She had seen but a glimpse of this ring, yet she recognized it instantaneously as silence fell between them.

"This," she whispered, not daring to pick up the ring, yet unable to tear her gaze from it, "was why you were in Prague?"

"I told you I'd find it," he shrugged offhandedly, as if he hadn't spent a week on tenterhooks, eagerly awaiting a phone call.

"What did you have to do," she paused, unsure if she wanted to know, "to get it back?"

"Mike found the guy, I just paid him," Chuck said simply.

"You didn't say anything," Blair's voice remained strong, but they both knew that something in their conversation had changed. "You just…left."

"I didn't want to take the chance someone would convince me not to go." Said aloud, the excuse sounded flat to his own ears.

Chuck expected Blair to call him on his bullshit, as she always had. Expected her to scoff and demand a real explanation.

Instead, she bent down slowly, and picked up her ring. For a moment, a prolonged, stretched out moment, he thought she would put it on.

And in that moment, he knew that everything that had transpired between them—all the hurt and betrayal they had inflicted upon each other—meant nothing.

Because they were inevitable. He had known it from the beginning.

Now it seemed she had finally realized it as well.

But his hopes and dreams came crashing down when he realized that she was not, in fact, putting on her ring.

She had been toying with it, as if she were contemplating putting it on—but as she walked towards him, the resolve in her eyes told him otherwise.

The platinum band was cool against his heated skin, a contrast to the heat of her palm as she took his hand, pried opened his clenched fist, and dropped _her_ ring into the palm of his hand.

She pulled away quickly after that, her fingertips still prickling with scorching heat.

"I don't love you anymore," she told him; her eyes glittering with unshed tears as her words pricked at his heart.

"You're lying," he told her coldly, refusing to accept the diamond in his palm. "You're doing that thing where your eyes don't match your mouth."

The words had been heard before, they were every bit as true as the

"How can you expect me to love you?" she asked instead. "After what you did?"

Her words were ice, the ruby lips around them doing nothing to lessen the blow. She eyed him with a level gaze, his stomach dropping as her words repeated themselves in his mind.

"Please leave," she told him quietly, her eyes averted as she turned away from him.

_After what you did?_

Her steps were quiet as she entered her room, and it was only when she closed the wooden door, did he collapse against it.

Chuck's eyelids felt heavy, silent tears pricking against them as his back pressed into the wood.

How long he sat there, he didn't know. He only knew the screaming pain in his leg, the dull ache in the small of his back, and the feeling of dread in his heart.

His ears perked up when he heard quiet, hesitant footsteps. She must have known that he was still there-still listening to her as she slid against the door.

Chuck's heartbeat picked up in pace as he heard her own, quiet breathing on the other side of the door. Her presence was palpable, even with the thick wood separating them. He could picture her, back against the cherry wood, eyes closed, hands fidgeting with the hem of her nightgown.

And he knew that he had been right once more.

_You're doing that thing where your eyes don't match your mouth._

…

Minutes, maybe hours, passed, and Chuck found himself falling asleep against the door.

Getting to his feet as best he could, he listened for the even breathing on the other side of the door. Hearing nothing, he resigned himself to the fact that she had gone to bed, and that was his cue to leave.

Making his way down the stairs, stifling groans of pain, he heard another sound in the penthouse.

He would have recognized that giggle anywhere.

"Serena, Nate," he called out quietly, though his voice still carried to the pair, whose matching blonde heads were clearly visible.

"Dammit," Chuck heard, and he smirked at Nate's surprise.

"You're lucky you're pretty, Nathaniel. You and S should never go into the PI business."

The two emerged form their hiding spot, clothes slightly wrinkled, hair more than slightly mussed.

"You followed me," Chuck stated, his voice bordering on amusement, though he was fighting sleep.

"What happened?" Serena asked instead, her blue eyes bright. "What did Blair say?"

In an instant, Chuck's playful demeanor vanished, replaced with something Serena could only classify as….pain.

"She said no," Nate realized, and Serena elbowed him for pointing out the obvious.

"What did she say exactly?" Serena prodded, and off Chuck's raised eyebrow, she admitted: "We couldn't hear, you guys were whispering."

"Probably for the best," Chuck said with a roll of his eyes. "She doesn't love me anymore. That's all."

"She didn't mean it," Serena was quick to say. "You know Blair. She didn't mean it."

"No," Chuck said, considering, "she didn't."

He turned then, believing the conversation over, but Serena's voice stopped him once more.

"Where are you going?" she asked, her question almost childlike in its simplicity.

"Home," Chuck enunciated, punctuating his words with a roll of his eyes.

"You're not staying?" Nate's tone was surprised as well.

"It's well past midnight, Nathaniel," Chuck explained, just as the elevator doors opened.

"Mr. Chuck."

The three turned at the sound of another, heavily accented voice. Dorota descended glaring at the three for being there at such a late hour.

"Mr. Chuck can stay in guest bedroom," Dorota said, and Nate and Serena smiled at each other, stepping into the open elevator.

"I don't—"

"You can explain in morning," Dorota said tiredly, "Miss Blair need you."

Chuck frowned momentarily, then composed himself, "I didn't think you were my biggest fan at the moment," he said wryly.

Dorota simply shrugged, already turning to make her way up the stairs. "You didn't see Miss Blair at hospital. Every day, she look for you."

Her words were punctuated by a sharp glare, but Chuck simply opened his palm, showing her what he had been holding onto for the better part of the evening.

"I went to Prague," he explained. "I needed to get her ring back."

From the look on Dorota's face, Chuck knew that she had a dozen, hundreds of questions, all stemming from the diamond he held in his palm.

But it seemed, that Dorota's weariness had won out over her curiosity, and she waved him up the stairs instead.

"Explain later," she told him, as Chuck grimaced at the thought of another stair climb. "Ms. Eleanor asleep, if not for sleeping pills, noise would have woken her. Shh," she instructed.

Chuck nodded, and the rest of the walk was spent in silence, apart from his labored breathing.

But as Dorota ushered him into the Waldorf's guest bedroom, he could have sworn he saw the smallest of proud smiles grace Dorota's face.

"You talk to Miss Blair in morning," she told him, before shutting the door.

In the Waldorf's tastefully decorated white and blue guest bedroom, Chuck found himself smiling, and setting Blair's ring reverently onto the mirrored table.

…

"Thank you."

For a moment, Arthur looked surprised, and Chuck would have bet the same emotion was reflected in his own face. Arthur, however, quickly composed himself, nodded once, and stepped back into the elevator.

Chuck simply looked at the purple silk robe and change of clothes in his hands, smiling ruefully.

"Charles," came a voice behind him, and Chuck turned around quickly, knowing that he shouldn't have been surprised that Eleanor was awake at six in the morning.

"Dorota told me you'd stayed over," Eleanor stated, and her gaze ran over his rumpled suit with distaste.

"In the guest bedroom," he replied smoothly, and Eleanor nodded.

"Might I ask _why_ you were here at such a late hour?"

"Dorota didn't tell you?" Chuck would've thought that Eleanor's favored maid would have divulged everything.

"Of course she did," Eleanor said with a wave of her hand, "but I wanted to hear it from you."

Chuck opened his mouth, but no response came forth as Eleanor regarded him haughtily.

Apparently Blair had inherited her perfected glare from her mother.

"She already told me about the ring," Eleanor said offhandedly, though her expression betrayed her curiosity.

Chuck nodded, still unable to form the correct words—unable to find the words that would make Eleanor accept this.

"You're both too young," Eleanor told him, scandalized. "Blair hasn't even graduated university!"

Chuck finally opened his mouth to respond, but Eleanor cut him off quickly, "I won't allow it. You knew that before you even bought the ring."

"That wouldn't stop me," Chuck added with a small smirk, "but you probably knew that, too."

Eleanor simply raised an eyebrow at him, at a loss for words, if only for a moment, "You disappeared for a week to find that ring, and from what I can garner, probably paid more than what you did originally."

"It was worth it," Chuck admitted, and Eleanor allowed the tiniest of smiles.

"I said before," Eleanor said, walking past him and to the elevator, effectively hiding her expression from him, "that Blair doesn't need you."

Chuck wanted to use Dorota's words as proof against Eleanor's fact, but Eleanor beat him to it, wryly stating, "I was wrong."

Eleanor stepped into the open elevator, shouldering her tote and leaving Chuck with one final remark.

"Make sure Dorota makes raspberry honey scones. They're Blair's favorite."

Chuck heard the hidden meaning behind Eleanor's words, and nodded his understanding.

"I'm not usually wrong," Eleanor murmured, more to herself, as the elevator doors closed.

Chuck suppressed another smile as he wandered down the hallway, in search of Dorota.

…

"Good morning," came a smooth voice from the kitchen table.

Blair jumped slightly, wincing as she stepped back into the counter's edge. Sitting at her mother's kitchen table, a cup of coffee and the _New York Times_ in hand, was Chuck Bass in a purple silk robe-which she recognized from her many stays at the Empire's penthouse.

"Scone?" he asked innocently, motioning towards the plate on the counter. The scent of Dorota's trademark freshly baked raspberry honey scones wafted under nose, making her stomach clench in anticipation.

Shaking her head, Blair turned towards the fridge, intending to grab a cluster of grapes instead.

They were safe. Harmless, really.

"Oh no," Chuck's voice interrupted her mental calculation of the amount of calories she could afford to consume without having to purge. "None of that good-for-you healthy crap, Waldorf. You're eating a scone. There's also croissants in the bag over there if you're so inclined."

The familiar tickle in her throat, coupled with the turning of her stomach was enough to send her backing away from the proffered food. But the challenge in his voice was intentional-so was the firm set of his jaw.

Blair placed a scone on a plate, angrily grabbing the bag of croissants and yanking one out as well. Studying the two items on her plate, her stomach revolted angrily as she met Chuck's challenge with a glare.

"By all means," he drawled. "Sit."

Taking a seat as far as possible, Blair continued her icy glare as she bit into a scone with ferocity.

Chuck raised an eyebrow at her, but continued eating his own scone in peace.

The minutes ticked by, and Blair shoved piece after piece of the decadent scone into her mouth, each bite weighing like glue on her tongue. The bile rose in her throat as she forced down the final bite of the scone. Looking guiltily at the crumbs on her plate, Blair scrunched her toes and braced her hands against the table.

Breathing through her nose, Blair concentrated on the pattern of the plate, the cut glass vase of blooming yellow-red roses, and the CB pinky ring of the man in front of her.

Her eyes traveled upwards, over the plush silk robe and the strong, well-defined jaw. As if drawn by an invisible force, her eyes locked with his-dark molten pools of liquid onyx that captivated her entirely, her momentary panic forgotten.

Chuck's jaw was set; his lips pressed into a thin, rigid line that spoke of judgment and reprimands. But his eyes betrayed uncharacteristic softness, an aberrant worry that fluttered through his visage like a flicker of light, weaving its way through a sea of emotions.

The silence tore at her, more so than the previous guilt, weighing in the air as heavily as gleaming diamond necklaces and sparkling diamond rings.

Unable to look away from him, his familiar presence both comforting and unnerving, Blair spoke the question at the tip of her tongue.

The words tumbled out of her pale lips, coated in arrogance and imaginary anger.

"Why are you still here?"

…

"Crap," Georgina uttered, staring at the puddle forming at her feet. What the _hell_? There had been no warning, no contractions, just a rush of fluid pooling around her bare feet as she stood in the middle of the Humphrey's loft.

She had come here so she wouldn't be alone, but as she stumbled towards the phone in agony, Georgina Sparks had never felt more alone.

Dialing the numbers with shaking hands, Georgina felt a drop of moisture on her thumb as she pressed _call_. Bringing the phone to her ear, her fingers brushed across the most uncharacteristic of tears that had spilled down her cheek.

"Dan?" she said into the phone, her voice sounding too weak, too _desperate_ to her own ears. "I'm going into labor. Dan, please…"

Georgina Sparks never felt more alone than hailing a cab outside a Brooklyn loft, her hand clutched to her swollen stomach as tears rained down her face, contractions wracking through her body.

…

"Why not?"

"I told you to leave."

"Your eyes weren't matching your mouth," Chuck said with a shrug.

"That didn't give you any right to stay." Blair retorted, though the smallest part of her still reveled in the fact that he knew her better than anyone else.

Just as she knew Chuck Bass better than anyone else-better than Nate, than Serena, and better than Chuck Bass himself.

So it came as a surprise to her to find him completely at ease in her home, as if the past night-and few months for that matter-had never occurred.

No words were needed as he raised an eyebrow, and Blair knew that she had just proven his point once more. Looking down at her plate in abject frustration, she noted that her stomach had all but calmed down. She felt no desire to leave the table and regurgitate her food into a porcelain bowl, felt nothing but the tension that surrounded the air.

She allowed herself the smallest smile of pride-one that did not go unnoticed by Chuck-and tore a piece of the croissant off with relish.

The croissant was gone in a matter of minutes, leaving the tiniest speckling of crumbs on her plate and a feeling of pride that swelled through her entire being. She had eaten a scone and a croissant, two decadent, fat-laden foods she had previously only indulged in for one sole reason.

It was odd, the feeling this small achievement had given her. As if a jar of glee had been opened, seeping through her veins like champagne bubbles.

…

"Is there anyone else we can call?" the young, pretty, nurse asked with what Georgina supposed was a comforting smile. It only made Georgina angrier. "I'm sorry honey, but he's not picking-"

"Rufus," Georgina gritted out, clenching her teeth as another reel of pain coursed through her being. "Rufus Humphrey."

The nurse left with another sympathetic smile at her, and Georgina wanted to scream. But at the same time, the hopelessness threatened to overcome her, and her anger ebbed slightly.

Georgina Sparks never needed anyone, but it seemed today was a study of contradictions.

She needed someone.

…

"So."

The tension was beginning to eat away at her, the silence growing larger as his dark eyes followed her every move. Their plates were empty, their glasses half full (though Blair suspected there was more than orange juice in Chuck's glass. He was Chuck Bass after all).

He barked out a short laugh, and Blair was too surprised to shoot him more than an irritated glare. But at the sight of his wry smile, Blair couldn't help but soften the tiniest bit.

"What?"

"It's just it's usually Nate with the one-word sentences," he told her in amusement.

Huffing at the thought of being compared to _Nate_, Blair turned to place her empty plate into the sink.

Mistaking her actions, Chuck reached out to grab her forearm as she passed him, eliciting a gasp of surprise on her part and nearly dropping her plate once again.

"Sorry," he muttered, dropping his hand. "I didn't mean-"

"I know," she said in slight amusement. "I was just putting my plate in the sink."

"Right."

It was strange, how they had progressed from fighting into an almost _comfortable_ stage, their words civil, if not slightly teasing.

"So," he started, and he caught the tail end of Blair's amused smile before she turned. "What are we doing today?"

"_I _was going to go to Central Park today," Blair replied, averting her eyes.

"I'll join you," he decided, his tone brooking no argument—but his eyes pleaded with her slightly.

She surprised herself by nodding.

"I'm going to get dressed" she offered. "You should—"

"I had some clothes brought over," he admitted. "They're upstairs."

Rolling her eyes, Blair turned to him with a wry smile. "Why am I not surprised?"

"I didn't know how long this avoidance of yours would last," he said offhandedly.

_We're inevitable_—the subtext of his words was not lost on her.

"You would have left eventually."

"I've got all that I need right here," he countered. "Dorota's cooking, a supply of vintage scotch, yo-"

"And your pain medication?" she cut in, knowing that his next words would bring their conversation into dangerous territory.

"That too," he admitted. "I wasn't going to tell—"

"I would have found out eventually," Blair replied with a shrug. "How _are_ you explaining away the cane?"

"I told Serena became a pimp," he told her dryly. Her resulting laugh was genuine—the first he had heard in days.

"Why didn't you just give in to them?" she asked quietly, her laughter having died out when reality set in. "It's nothing you couldn't have replaced."

The moment hung in the air, and Chuck opened his mouth to respond.

"It was your ring," he said simply. No other words were needed.

The intensity of his gaze stilled her movements, and Blair knew that the conversation had turned dangerous.

"I'll be ready in forty minutes," Blair said breezily, in an attempt to ignore the moment that had passed between them.

"Blair—" he called after her.

But she had already left the room.

…

"Lily?" the blonde head in front of her was unmistakable, even through the current tears and sweat that blurred her vision. The younger nurse, the one with the round face and auburn hair, stood by the door, wringing her hands at the sight of Georgina.

Her hair was matted, her skin blotched with sweat, and each time another wave of pain gripped her, she felt as if her last breath were being pulled from her lungs.

"Rufus asked me to come instead," Lily said tiredly, sitting in a chair opposite her bed. "I know I'm not you're first choice, but-"

"I'm not alone," Georgina told her. "That's all that matters"

A slim, elegant hand found her sweaty one, and Georgina knew.

She wasn't alone anymore.

…

"I called a car."

Blair turned to him in the midst of slipping the lowest pair of heels she owned-beige and pink Chanel slingbacks that almost shrieked of walks in the park. Alas, Chanel did not shriek, only insinuated quietly.

"We're going to take a car two blocks?" she asked skeptically, reveling in the slight embarrassment that flickered across his face.

"What else do you suggest?"

"_Walking?_"

She shrugged when he wrinkled his nose, brushing past him ever so slightly as the entered the elevator.

"You can take the car, but I'm walking."

"I'll walk with you," Chuck said hesitantly, and Blair fought against the triumphant smile that threatened to overtake her cool demeanor.

"The great Chuck Bass, walking? I never thought I'd see the day." Blair remarked, but her expression softened slightly when she noticed the grimace.

"Your leg…"

"I'll be fine," Chuck replied breezily as the exited the elevator. The elderly couple that bypassed the cavern of space between them did nothing to hide his pain.

Once in the bright sunshine, Chuck felt a trickle of sweat bead on his forehead, and he braced himself for what would possibly be the hardest walk of his young life.

"How's your leg?" Blair asked timidly after a block of silence, the sound of Chuck's harsh breathing heavy in her ear. They walked with enough space to let a crowd pass between them, and yet her fingers twitched at his proximity.

Being in Chuck's presence had always done odd things to her.

"Fine," he ground out, and Blair knew that it was anything but.

Sighing, she continued on slowly, wondering if allowing Chuck to come along had been a terrible idea. The duck pond had always been her sanctuary, an iota of calm in the midst of her troubles. The familiar feeling of a loaf of bread under her arm and the smell of freshly mowed grass only heightened this feeling.

As they neared Central Park, Blair began to feel Chuck's desperation. His forehead was slicked with sweat, his face contorted with pain, as his breathing grew labored.

"I want a lemonade," Blair said decidedly, leading the both of them towards a lemonade stand-and a bench.

His grateful sigh of relief could be heard as he collapsed onto the bench. And that was when Blair realized that she didn't know what she was doing.

She had meant to spend an entire summer in Paris, purging herself of Chuck Bass and having the time of her life. Instead, her summer had been halted with a call from home, a call that had changed everything. And now she found herself on amicable terms with him once more,

Shaking her head slightly, Blair took the two lemonades with a smile, making her way back to Chuck.

Blair didn't know what she was doing, bringing Chuck to the duck pond.

…

"Congratulations," came the voice of the doctor, breaking through the haze Georgina had found herself in.

A squirming, wailing, bundle of blue blankets and pink skin was placed into her arms, and the weight of a baby, another human being, sent her into another round of tears.

"It's a boy."

A boy. A boy with a dark curly hair and grey blue eyes, his tiny forehead puckering as he wailed once more.

"He's beautiful," came a voice, and Georgina turned towards the person sitting next to her. Lily's eyes were wide, and the adoration in her voice matched the softness in her face.

Georgina could only nod as she looked at the bundle in her arms once more.

She hadn't known what being a mother would have felt like before this. There was nothing in the world that could have possibly prepared her for the feeling that coursed through her veins.

It was foreign to her, barely tangible, and she felt as if it would slip through her fingers, light as air, if she attempted to grasp on to it.

The baby in her arms squirmed, and a tiny, small, hand reached up at her, grabbing at air.

"Hi," she told her baby, her voice uncharacteristically soft.

"I'm not going to be your mommy," she explained to the wailing baby, as if he could understand. But Georgina knew. This explanation was not for the doctors, not for Lily, not even for her son.

It was for herself.

"But I'm going to love you anyways."

* * *

tbc


End file.
